The Damage in the Decision
by ScarletZebraPetal
Summary: A tough choice; a decision with outcomes that force physical and emotional stress on every side. Because the obvious option isn't always the right one. Set Mid-Season 6, post The Body in the Bag. Angst, Hannah, but eventual B/B
1. Prologue

**Author's Note: Warning you all now, this is one hell of a depressing ride I've sketched out. This isn't all written, so nothing's concrete- but there's a Word document that outlines this story, and I hope to follow it. This idea just came to me, and begged to be written. I'm a pysch major, so I may get technical- I love myself some good Sweets dialogue. This isn't beta-ed, so I apologize for any grammatical or spelling errors. This is my first fanfic, so please wish me luck! Reviews would be so welcome. Happy reading!**

_Anger_ by Marvin Gaye

_Up and down my back, my spine, in my brain  
>It injures me, babe...<em>

_Anger, can make you old, yes it can  
>I said anger, can make you sick, children... oh Jesus<br>Anger destroys your soul  
>Rage, there's no room for rage in there<br>There's no room for rage in here  
>line up some place to go to be mad<br>It's a sin to treat your body bad_

_When anger really gets the best of us  
>We've really lost our heads<br>We often say a lot of things, oh darlin'  
>Wish we'd never said<br>Oh, reason is beyond control_

Prologue

He sat in the office, and observed.

Dark. It was dark outside.

Dark meant getting home, and home meant family. And to him, family meant Arielle. Arielle meant sex.

He wanted sex. Craved it, even.

This man, he knew what he wanted. He was a logical man. A man who knew that, to get what you want, you had to carefully measure out your steps. You had to be perfectly rational. You had to be in control.

He was in control.

And now, he wanted, craved, _needed_ to get home. _It would all be so easy_, he thought, _if I could just hang up early_. But he could not hang up. Oh, no. His boss had made it all quite clear- hang up, and you lose the job. Lose your temper, and you're out of work. _It's okay_, the man decided, _I'll get this last call and I'll be gone._ He picked up the phone, answering.

"BetState Insurance, how may I help you?" The caller criticized the company's main insurance form, stating it didn't allow for her eleven children. The man knew the form was anything but erroneous. He had devised it himself. He had an MBA. He was a Domestic Communications Administrator at one of the largest insurance companies in the world.

He was in control.

"Ma'am, if you look in the top left hand corner of the _Children and Foster Children_ box, it says, in smaller print, that any customer with over six children must fill out a separate form. We can mail you a new form, or you can print it our off of our website." The man sighed, as the lady rattled off her name and ID so he could put it into the system and mail the form out.

"Thank you so much for your help. It must have been a real idiot who created the form I got. I mean, only a person with 20/20 vision _and_ a magnifying glass would be able to read that!" She giggled, and he felt _it_ then. That little stirring of ire in the pit of his stomach and the thump of his heart rate accelerate, those sure signs that the man would get angry. And when this man got angry, it wasn't just anger. It was fury. It was vehemence. Wrath. _Rage_. He trembled with the force of holding it back. He had spent his whole life holding it back.

He was in control.

He politely agreed and hung up, falling back into his chair, gasping and clenching his fists. _Why?_ _Why do I hold it back? _His palm drifted across his pallid forehead nails scraping the clammy skin. _Why?_ The man had an epiphany then. He didn't need to hold it back. _There are ways_, he thought, _ways to be in control and still let out all the anger._ The thought, sick as it was, even undeveloped and crude, buzzed in his convoluted mind, exciting him as he made his way home in his worn cruiser. His subconscious grinned in ecstasy, but outwardly, he appeared the same as always. It was sublime.

He was in control.

The man pulled into the driveway, and, seeing Arielle's car in the garage, felt _it_ stir within him again. Except for, this time, the man encouraged it. It was a battle of mind and body, the man taunting himself, riling himself up. But he knew what he was doing, what he was going to do. He knew _everything_.

He was in control.

The door was open; it flew open. He had thrown it open. Arielle's face was smiling. The smile slowly waned. He had done that. Her eyes were concerned. Then worried. Then back to concerned, with a brief flicker of fear present. _Fear._ He relished it. His power.

He was in control.

He stalked up the stairs yelling accusations. _It _was still there, in his gut, swirling, churning fury. He flung the bedroom door open, strode over to the night table and pulled out his AR-24 that he had for emergencies. His lips twitched in anticipation. He could hear her rounding the stairs now, and he was just _so angry_. He would be rid of this constant vehemence. He would end it.

"Honey? Are you okay?"

She tumbled into the room, Arielle. He whipped the gun around, pointing it at her. Couldn't be too hard, could it? No. No, just pull the trigger.

He could feel it in the air around him. He could taste her fear. Smell the excitement. _Feel _the superiority emanating from him. He contracted his finger. The gunshot rang out. He smiled.

He was in control.

o-o-o


	2. Agonistic

**Author's Note: To everyone who doesn't know me- I'm Scarlett, going into sophomore year of college this fall. My major is psychology, specifically dealing in forensics, and I love to write, sing (horribly), and dance. Thanks to everyone for the reviews, favorites, and alerts! I'm really excited to start this story! A special thanks to my wonderful beta Steph (StephyJ83) for all her help on this chapter- I wouldn't have been able to do it without you :) Just a disclaimer- I own none of Bones or its characters; all of that goes to Hart Hanson. **

_Why_ by Avril Lavigne

_Why, do you always do this to me?  
><em>_Why, couldn't you just see through me?  
><em>_How come, you act like this  
><em>_Like you just don't care at all_

_Do you expect me to believe I was the only one to fall?  
><em>_I can feel, I can feel you near me, even though you're far away  
><em>_I can feel, I can feel you baby, why_

_It's not supposed to feel this way  
><em>_I need you, I need you  
><em>_More and more each day  
><em>_It's not supposed to hurt this way  
><em>_I need you, I need you, I need you  
><em>_Tell me, are you and me still together?  
><em>_Tell me, do you think we could last forever?  
><em>_Tell me, why_

Chapter One: Agonistic

_-Three months later-_

"Mr. Fisher, tell me about our victim." Dr. Temperance Brennan strode across the forensic platform to where Fisher stood, peering over the skeletal form on the cold, steely surface of the examination table.

"Our victim is female, based on the wide, low arch of the pelvic bone, and also the flatter iliac and wider sacrum. She has not given birth and, based on the fusion of the sagittal suture, age can be determined as between twenty-three and thirty-five years of age." Fisher quickly looked towards Brennan for approval while continuing. "A life stolen from a chaste woman, even before the opportunity to hold a child of her own in her arms…"

Brennan was impressed at the rate Fisher was learning, despite his melancholy disposition. She had accepted his application because of his considerable IQ and passion for growth, but had quickly realized he was by far the least experienced of all her interns. His lack of experience coupled with the fact that he was the intern least present in the lab, and Brennan was concerned about the possibility of a lot of wasted potential.

"Excellent observations, Mr. Fisher. However, you must consider that cranial suture fusion is not the most accurate measure of age, as different peoples' crania may take more or less time than others to fuse, allowing for a maximum of a two year fluctuation in age. Now, if you look at the clavicle you will see a complete epiphyseal union, confirming age to be approximately twenty-eight years. If you would begin the tissue markers for Angela and help her find the identity of our victim, I can do a secondary evaluation of the victim to determine the exact cause of death." Fisher nodded curtly and sighed heavily, as if the sight of a skeleton was far too much for a Forensic Anthropology intern to set his eyes on.

Brennan began to leave for her office, but stopped and turned around.

"Oh, and Mr. Fisher? Inform Angela that she was a ballet dancer. Note the distal and proximal phalanx on the hallux," she said, pointing to the victim's big toe. "There is considerable damage consistent with a dancer repeatedly going _en pointe_. That should aid in identification."

As Fisher began to chide himself for his oversight, Brennan's form disappeared into her office. She was working on the cause of death of a Feudal Japanese Shogun, and had barely started when Angela's very pregnant outline silhouetted itself in her doorway.

"Hey, Ange. You're ready for me?"

"Yeah, Fisher's given me the skull, but I'll need your help for the scientific jargon. I know you already have race and stuff," Angela replied. Then she quickly asked, "You do, don't you?" Brennan rolled her eyes.

"Of course, Angela. I was merely allowing Mr. Fisher a chance to try to affirm it on his own. Caucasoid, if you must know," Brennan stated matter-of-factly, "Let's go now."

In Angela's office, she and Brennan began to work through the facial reconstruction, finally landing themselves with a pretty, pale, freckled Scottish-Irish girl, with thick auburn hair, and clear, stained glass blue eyes. Brennan stared sadly at the picture, hating and loving her occupation in the same moment, while Angela fiddled on her computer.

"Ange, check her-" Brennan started, but Angela cut her off.

"Reconstruction against the missing persons database. I got it, Bren. Arielle Harley, 28. Last seen at the Walgreen's on Connecticut, here in DC. Reported missing by her husband, a Mr. Gage Fletcher Harley." Brennan smiled at Angela, feeling another duo of mixed feelings. Pride, definitely, for Angela's growth and intellect among a field of coworkers with doctorates and prized internships, but also, a niggling resentment, a feeling of uselessness, unimportance, and insecurity. _What happens, _she pondered, _when no one needs me to be their guide anymore? What happens when all my interns have doctorates, when I grow old, when people have no excuse to interact with me? _She pushed the thoughts away, filing them into a metaphorical storage drawer in her extremely compartmentalized mind.

"Wow, um, excellent work, Ange," she praised. "We'll have to check dentals, and I'll do my secondary evaluation. I should be able to get cause of death so you can reconstruct the homicide." Angela smiled and nodded, and Brennan suddenly felt a rush of affection for her friend, one that trumped the nagging uncertainty seeded within her.

o-o-o

Brennan made her way to the Bone Room where Fisher had cleaned the bones for her. The victim had clearly been shot, but the exact time and mode of death would be vital to the case. The ballistic trauma on the parietal bone indicated cerebral hemorrhaging as cause of death. She knew that, but did Fisher?

"Mr. Fisher, have you examined the skull post-flesh removal?" Fisher shook his head and Brennan motioned him to move closer. She moved the magnifier over the cranium and pointed towards the left monitor.

"Well, can you determine cause of death from the cranium?" Fisher squinted at the skull in a manner that would have amused Booth

"Ah, yes! A longer, slower death than most - cerebral hemorrhaging? This cruel world not only takes away precious lives, but does so oh, so _painfully_…" Brennan sighed at the truthfulness of what Fisher had said. It was a twinge of that feeling she had experienced earlier - happiness and sadness intermingled. Pushing away her feelings she asked, "Time of death?"

"Staining and chips on the parietal and occipital bone fronts of the cranium indicate time of death around 3 months ago." Brennan beamed. She loved the feeling when she saw the reflection of her teacher instilled in her interns.

"Excellent work, Mr. Fisher," she congratulated. She felt a sense of pride as she watched him leave. She had been much more genial towards her interns as of late, not wanting to lose any more relationships. Her musings were interrupted as Booth joined her in the Bone Room, his face serious.

"Ok, Bones, we're changing our focus a little here," he stated without greeting. "We know who killed her. Now, we need to figure out how to find him and to do that we need you to work your magic with her bones." Brennan was startled.

"Who killed her?"

"Her husband. Yeah, the same one who reported her missing. This is a high profile case, Bones. Gage Harley? He's a new serial killer, and it looks like his wife was the first of many. After her, his targets seemed to become random, making him extremely dangerous. We'll have Sweets profile him once we have more information. But, as of now, we need to figure out where he's at. Don't tell anyone I told you this, but I'm pretty sure there'll be some undercover stuff with this one. There's a little game of cat and mouse to play." Once again, Brennan found herself in a situation where she knew that she should be picking up on something, but that something was so hard to understand. She hated being confused.

"Cat and mouse…" she murmured, "Are you suggesting we, the cat, make a meal out of Harley, the mouse?" She looked up at Booth hopefully, trying to ascertain whether she was correct or not. Booth chuckled.

"No, Bones, it means that I'll have to chase him like a cat chases a mouse. But he's sly like a mouse, so it will be difficult. Unlike some people we know, cannibalism is _very_ unappealing." Brennan looked up in surprise. _Was that a dig at Zach?_ Booth seemed to catch himself.

"Sorry…"

Brennan didn't like the way he spoke. With "I's" instead of "we's", and with a coldness and pitying intonation in his voice. That sad little cadence had existed in his voice ever since her confession in the car after the Eames case. She didn't like it at all. The way he didn't seem to know her well enough anymore to see how much pain his jab at Zach caused her. She didn't like it.

"Oh." _No, Brennan, _she chided herself,_ 'Oh' is not enough. Be more social. Reach out like Sweets always says you should._

"Um," she started awkwardly, looking at her watch, "Want to go get some lunch at the Diner?" Booth looked surprised she was asking, and also rather apologetic.

"Sorry, Bones, but I've got plans with Hannah," he said.

"Of course," Brennan stated, "Anthropologically speaking, when an individual finds a mate, they absorb their time with their significant other as a way to prove their commitment." Booth didn't quite know what to say to that, and took the opportunity to leave. Brennan sighed, hating the distance between her and Booth, and made her way to the platform to do some documenting.

o-o-o

The team was gathered around the base of the forensic platform, whispering to each other. They were watching Brennan as she was bent over her work, brow furrowed in concentration, discussing something with Fisher.

"I hate this."

"Hate is a strong word, Angela. It can stem from feelings of jealousy, or ignorance. In your case, I find-,"

"Oh shut up, Sweets, my wife is fine."

"She's changed so much, hasn't she? She said good morning to me today. Really! Like, 'Good morning, Cam. How has your day been so far?' I was shocked."

"Why can't he see that in Bren? Why can't he declare that he loves her, sweep her off her feet or whatever? Why can't they be together?"

"Come on Angie, we all know why…"

"_Blondie_… God, Hodgins, I hate that I like her. She's the enemy, right? Why is she so damned perfect?"

Cam laughed.

"She's not the enemy, Angela. I think we should just let them be. I'm going to stay out of it. Dr. Brennan's practically my superior." Sweets sighed, flipping off the switch on his inner psychologist for a moment.

"But she looks so _lonely_."

"It's okay guys, Dr. B's resilient. It'll work out. Trust me. I am King of the Lab, after all."

But as they stared up at their boss on the platform, the squints couldn't help but feel that things were changing at the Jeffersonian.

And not for the better.

o-o-o


	3. Misplay

**Author's Note: Hey everyone! Thank you once more for your alerts and favorites and reviews. A special thanks to Steph, my beta. :) _How to Save a Life_ is originally written to a man, but I edited it to make it speak to a girl. Short chapter, mainly because this is where the plot begins. Read onwards! (and review) Disclaimer: I do not own Bones or any of its characters- that's Hart Hanson's bragging right.**

_How to Save a Life _by The Fray

_Where did I go wrong, I lost a friend  
><em>_Somewhere along in the bitterness  
><em>_And I would have stayed up with you all night  
><em>_Had I known how to save a life_

_Let her know that you know best  
><em>_Cause after all you do know best  
><em>_Try to slip past her defense  
><em>_Without granting innocence  
><em>_Lay down a list of what is wrong  
><em>_The things you've told her all along  
><em>_And pray to God she hears you  
><em>_And pray to God she hears you_

Chapter Two: Misplay

He sat in the chair across the desk, feeling like a child sent to the principal's office on the first day of middle school.

Hacker stared at him, contemplatively, worriedly.

"Booth." One syllable, one word, one name, yet with so much meaning placed in it.

"Hacker." Booth was anxious. Two months back from Afghanistan and he was being called up to Hacker? Was the solve rate not high enough? Was he going to lose his office? Was he being transferred out of Major Crimes?

"Booth, we have a case for you." Booth almost deflated with relief. _Just a case_.

"Um, okay, thanks for informing me personally. I'll call Bones," Booth replied, feeling better in a matter of seconds.

"No." Booth looked up from his phone, his prior concern returning as he scanned the look on Hacker's face.

"No?" Booth was confused. Was this a case outside of Major Crimes? He wasn't supposed to work outside of Major Crimes. He worked with Bones, solving crimes through anthropology, entomology, pathology, mineralogy, palynology, and whatever other 'ology' applied at the Jeffersonian. He smiled inwardly. _Look at me, rationalizing all of this._

"No. This case is complete fieldwork, and honestly? We can't endanger Dr. Brennan's life on this one. Our contract with the Jeffersonian only allows us so much leeway. This isn't going to be a 'full participation' case for Temperance, I'm glad to say," Hacker explained. Booth was extremely confused.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold up. This is going to be dangerous? Like, life-threateningly dangerous?" Booth didn't like the sound of this. The main reason he had left the war zone with such haste, besides Cam's obvious plea, was that he felt that he couldn't risk his life. He needed to be there for Parker. He remembered the Afghani woman's desperate voice, "_This would not have happened if his father was here, where he's supposed to be; instead of out fighting someone else's war_."

"Yes, Booth, I'm sorry, but you're the agent best fit for this job. It's actually about the case Temperance is working on. Harley? I'm going to need you to lie low for a while," Hacker declared.

_Ha! _Booth thought briefly, _I was right about the undercover work._ Hacker continued, "The job is far too hazardous for Temperance and the squints to work on. In fact, if they continue, their lives will most probably be endangered. Although Harley's killing sprees are sporadic, he did take out the officer to whom he reported his wife missing." Booth nodded his agreement. They couldn't have the squints in danger. Not with Cam having Michelle and Angela pregnant. Hacker was encouraged by Booth's consent so far, and surged forward.

"So, here's the plan: You begin tracking Harley. Then, if he strikes, we can say you were randomly killed. That way, not only can we take all the squints off the case due to personal reasons, but you're safe from him as well. After that, we need you to try to arrest him. But Booth, this is a dead or alive situation. Go ahead and take him out if you need to." Hacker said all this very seriously, assessing Booth's reaction. Booth shook his head slowly, trying to consider all of this without getting a brain rush.

"Who can I tell?" Hacker drew his eyebrows together.

"What do you mean?" Hacker asked, before realization dawned on him, "Oh, you can tell direct family, and one non-familial individual. This one's a little more high profile than the last fake death." Booth smiled, relieved, making plans to make absolutely sure that everyone he wanted to know would know this time around.

"Okay," Booth assented. "Okay, I'm in." He and Hacker signed some consent forms, and he was out.

o-o-o

Booth sat in his office, filing paperwork, reminiscing happily about his lunch date with Hannah. He hoped she wouldn't mind too much when he was 'dead'. He made a plan, picturing it all in his head. He would tell her about the operation, and at first she would be upset. Not with him, but with the FBI. But then she would do her little 'Hannah Half-Smile' and say that his absence would give her time to chase a lead. Then she would say that he should get his butt out of the apartment because she was already feeling the writing bug coming on and he had better go get himself 'killed' already. Hannah was so good that way. She was fun and relaxed, spontaneous yet oddly constant, girly, normal, and _easy._

He was almost three-quarters of the way through with the paperwork from the last case- the one with the body found in the shower- when his phone buzzed.

"Booth."

"Hello, Booth? I have developments on the Harley case." Booth smiled at the sound of his partner's voice. _It's cute_, he thought, _the way she says 'hello' like it's a question…_ As his musings trailed away he realized that he still had to tell her about the case going null. He'd wait till after his 'death' to tell Bones about the operation, just because he didn't want her to accidently let the squints know. Now that he thought about it, this case was really high profile. Even Sweets wasn't to be on this case; Booth was going to be assigned some other FBI psych-profiler.

"Um, yeah Bones, about the case… I'll be there in five, we have to talk," he responded, feeling bad that Bones had to waste her time on a void case. _Still_, he thought_, Fisher probably got an extra load of depression off this case, so at least some good came out of it. _Booth shook his head. That Fisher kid was all kinds of weird. Death and sorrow seemed to be his heroin and cocaine.

"Ok, see you soon**.** Bye!" Bones said, ending the call. Booth smiled at the phone and hurried to the parking lot. He didn't know how much time he had with Bones, Hannah, and the squints before this case started. He had better make the most of it. He had just put the key in the ignition when it hit him.

o-o-o


	4. Undertaking

**Author's Note: Thank you for your reviews, alerts, and favorites! Here is the conclusion to last chapter's semi-cliffhanger. Tens of thanks to Steph, my delightful beta- I'd _indubitably_ be mental without you ;) That's all for now, lovely reading and I'll see you all next week! A little disclaimer- all of Bones and its characters are Hart Hanson's property; I just love messing with them.**

_I'd Lie_ by Taylor Swift

_I don't think that passenger seat  
><em>_Has ever looked this good to me  
><em>_He tells me about his night  
><em>_And I count the colors in his eyes_

_He looks around the room  
><em>_And innocently overlooks the truth  
><em>_Shouldn't a light go on  
><em>_Doesn't he know  
><em>

_That I've had him memorized for so long  
><em>_He sees everything in black and white  
><em>_Never let nobody see him cry  
><em>_I don't let nobody see me wishing he was mine_

Chapter Three: Undertaking

He parked the SUV in its spot in the Jeffersonian parking lot, and jumped into the elevator, foot tapping nervously. He pushed the button for the Medico-Legal Lab's floor and muttered insolently when the doors didn't close.

"Damn it!" He pushed the 'close doors' button once, hard. The doors did _not_ close. He pushed it again, twice more, ten more times, blindly, all the while spitting profanities.

"Hey, man. You okay?" the voice of Sweets filtered through the air. Booth glared, not pleased. He raised his eyebrows and cocked his head.

"No, Sweets, I can't get to the damned Lab, because these doors just aren't _fucking_ closing!" he intoned harshly, crudely. Sweets took a step back from his position on the threshold of the elevator. He opened his mouth to speak, but Booth cut him off, his finger still pulsing on the button.

"What are you doing here, anyway? Shouldn't you be hard at work annoying your patients with your little soft sciences?" Sweets looked rather affronted, but the expression was quickly replaced with the 'I'm Dr. Lance Sweets, clinical criminal psychologist, and I'm here to help' face. Booth hated that face. He thought that upset and irritated looked better on the baby duck's face.

"I'm here to pick up-," he started, but Booth cut him off, digging his finger into the damned button.

"Daisy? Likely story. Fisher's the squintern right now, but I wouldn't expect you to know that. You're only twelve, after all." Sweets sighed.

"I'm picking up Fisher for therapy with me. He needs to be psycho-analyzed regularly if he is to work at the Jeffersonian, and Dr. Brennan recommended me to him," Sweets stated firmly, albeit proudly. His tone softened. "And she did so for a reason. I'm here Booth, if you need to talk."

And with that he gently moved Booth's finger off the 'open doors' button it had been so furiously pressing and tapped the correct one. The doors slid shut as the two colleagues stood side-by-side, silent and stoic. Sweets glanced at the agent, and found him deep in thought.

Indeed, many thoughts were milling around in Booth's head, but one problem was predominantly situated.

What had Hacker said?

"_You can tell direct family and _one_ non-familial individual…"_

Nine months ago, he thought, this wouldn't have worried him

Nine months ago, those three words wouldn't have caused him to strike out at his friends.

Nine months ago, he wouldn't have lost his mind over an elevator.

Nine months ago, that one non-familial member could only have been one person.

Nine months ago, he wouldn't have had to choose between Bones and Hannah.

The elevator doors opened, and Booth stepped out. He and Sweets rounded the corner and walked through as the automatic doors opened with a _swish_. They strode toward the platform, ID cards at the ready, tipping their heads in a nod to the security. It was a regular routine.

So then why did it suddenly feel so wrong?

"Booth! Good! You're here. What took you so long?" Bones asked curiously, cerulean eyes shining with concern.

_Should I tell her? No, what are you thinking! You and Hannah are in a committed relationship, and she must come first._

Sweets glanced at Booth briefly, before looking away, engaging himself in conversation with Fisher.

"Elevator problems," Booth replied tersely, uncomfortably. The silence stretched, long and sticky like a tacky, used piece of gum, increasing the communication gap between the two FBI regulated partners.

_It's just… Bones has had to go through this already. It seems unfair that she should have to do it again. Although that time, it was all Sweets' damned fault._

Booth took the opportunity to direct an icy glare at Sweets back. Bones shook her head like a puppy, as if to clear it.

"Oh. Well, you called. Was it concerning the case? Will it conflict with or modify my findings? Will the remains require further examination? Was… was anything inaccurate?" Bones pressed, searching for an open crack in Booth's unusually unsettled and taciturn exterior, going as far as to question her indubitably sound conclusions.

_Regardless, no one should have to go through family death. Not even once. Hannah's seen bad things… but these things, they affect you. _No. _Hannah's the way to go._

"No, no, no- not that, Bones. It's just, we're pursuing the case further and I need some fast answers. I've got more bodies that we recovered today- all found at a morgue. Also, we might not be able to get clearance for you to work such a dangerous case- be prepared for suited up agents to flash in here anytime to steal away your corpses."

"Oh, come on, that's bull!" Everyone turned and stared at Hodgins, who looked rather upset. "We solve the cases, Booth! This one looked exciting! There are serial killer tendencies here!" Booth grimaced.

"Hit the nail right on the head there, Hodgins," he intoned, smacking the case file on the examination table on the platform, "Gage Fletcher Harley, MBA. Most definitely a serial killer." At this Sweets turned around, interested.

"Really? Serial killer? Whoa… dude, that's going to be a wicked profile to do!" Booth grimaced, feeling the burden of his knowledge. Sweets would most definitely not be on this case…

_This needs to be over. Quickly. Not telling Bones, not telling Cam, not telling Hodgins, Angela, the squinterns, not telling the hockey team… it's going to be rough. Well, maybe not for Bones…_

Bones slapped his hand in disgust.

"What have I told you about leaving the case files on the examination table before it's been sterilized! And _what nail_?"

"It's an expression Bones," he explained, doggedly. "You know that."

_Last time I 'died', she wasn't even going to go to my funeral! And when she did, she disrespected my religion and… _Booth continued his mental rant selfishly, albeit fondly,_ …didn't even cry! That over-compartmentalized woman..._

o-o-o

Dr. Brennan was a genius. She had an IQ higher than Statue of Liberty was tall. She was featured in magazines, journals, books, and documentaries. She had been on television for fourteen interviews and seven informative releases. She had written several books which were currently having film screenplays written for them.

Dr. Brennan was successful.

Why was it then that today she couldn't even engage well enough with her partner of over six years to bring out the childish, carefree behavior that was an intrinsic part of him? She knew why. _Brain and heart._ Sure, she had the brain, but her heart? Something was off, and she knew it.

Defective.

_It must be that, _she deduced. _That's what is keeping Booth from communicating effectively with me_. Why else? Why else would she and Booth have neglected their regular lunch outings at the Diner? Although she understood Booth's need to spend time with Hannah, but it had been nearly two months. Two months without normal conversation. Secretly, she knew _exactly_ why things had spiraled so much recently.

_That _damned_ Lauren Eames._

Her world, her rational, compartmentalized, Brennan-world had been flipped upside-down, over and over, without relief for three days.

Seeing faces, hearing voices, following blind intuition… all acts of insanity, the latter of the three especially disturbing to Dr. Brennan. Her admission to Booth had been a mistake. Her heart was always causing problems. Problems like Hannah replacing Booth for after-dinner drinks.

Hannah was lovely- funny, girly, friendly… but she was a reminder of all that Brennan had lost.

Brennan _had_ lost.

It was a difficult concept for her to grasp, losing.

So she wouldn't. No, she wasn't going to be an idiot and try to snatch Booth away from Hannah's clutches. On the contrary, she would be the best friend. She would smile and be happy for Booth, even if it killed her. He knew how she felt… all she could do was wait. After all, wasn't that what he had been doing for the past six years? With this epiphany and new philosophy Brennan smiled, feeling empowered.

She would be his best man at their wedding if she had to! Because she knew that roughly half of her happiness was derived from Booth's own happiness.

And she could settle for that.

"Um, Bones? You still there?" Brennan jerked out of her reverie, cheeks blushing- _a result of your sympathetic nervous system releasing copious amounts of adrenaline into the bloodstream, dilating the blood vessels_- and answered.

"Yes, of course, a colloquialism. So you want forensics to further assist you in ascertaining the location of the killer by corroborating the corporeal evidence?"

She was met with a blank stare from Booth. She grinned at his dumbfounded visage, declaring, "Well, get on it, team!"

Cam snorted from behind her. "Hello? Boss over _here!_" Brennan and the others laughed good-naturedly, and Brennan turned to ask Booth to dinner with her and the rest of the team, but he was already gone. She sighed, feeling the empowerment start to drain out of her system. _Typical._

And she turned back to her bones.

o-o-o


	5. Affray

**Author's Note: This is a heavy chapter, guys! I plan to update on Wednesdays from now on, but I'm leaving for the UK on Friday, so updating may be difficult. Rest assured I will try my best :) Thanks you so much for all your reviews, I'm so very happy you are liking the story so far! Thanks a million to a beta Steph, she's ace! Disclaimer: I do not own Bones or any of its characters, otherwise it wouldn't have taken six years to get them together! (Okay, maybe it would have).**

_We Might As Well Be Strangers_ by Keane

_I don't know your face no more  
><em>_Or feel the touch that I adore  
><em>_I don't know your face no more  
><em>_It's just the place I'm looking for_

_We might as well be strangers in another town  
><em>_We might as well be living in a different world  
><em>_We might as well, we might as well, we might as well_

_I don't know your thoughts these days  
><em>_We're strangers in an empty space  
><em>_I don't understand your heart  
><em>_It's easier to be apart_

Chapter Four: Affray

It had been a week since he'd had a conversation with Bones that didn't include the words "victim" or "laceration" or "haemorrhaging". He could tell she was trying to reach out, and it frustrated him. Why couldn't she just leave him be? Why did she have to want him _now_? Why was she so damned irritating sometimes? Talking to her was too difficult, so he took every opportunity to disappear when her back was turned. He planned date upon date with Hannah to keep his schedule full. He'd never had this much sex and romance in his life.

But what frustrated him the most was… _it wasn't cutting it_.

Because in every lull, Booth's mind would stray to Bones, and how she wouldn't know. She wouldn't know because she wasn't his. She wouldn't know because they missed their moment. She wouldn't know because… if he was honest, because he had promised Bones thirty, forty, even fifty years. And he gave her three, maybe four minutes.

But Booth wasn't honest, not with himself, and lately, not with others.

o-o-o

He'd told her. He'd told Hannah, and it was done.

No take backs.

Because now it was permanent, Hannah knowing and Bones oblivious; it was permanent and couldn't be changed.

And for some reason, that made Booth inexplicably angry.

So, the next day, when he didn't leave fast enough to miss Brennan's invite to lunch, something went off inside of him. And Booth noticed, and tried to quell it.

Unfortunately, Brennan noticed too.

"Booth, is something wrong?" She asked, concerned, eyeing him as they stood over the latest set of remains.

"No… just got a little spacey."

"I don't know what- well, would you like to take a lunch break? Thai, the Diner, the cafeteria?" she repeated hesitantly, not wanting to nag, but also craving an excuse to spend time with him.

"I'm not hungry," he replied, unusually terse. Brennan frowned.

"Booth, it is imperative that you consume three meals a day. And don't tell me you've already eaten because you've been here practically all day!" Brennan replied, one eyebrow arched, standing commandingly on the platform. Hodgins glanced over at the two and rolled his eyes, amused at their routine verbal sparring.

"_Bones_," Booth hissed, spitting her name out like a curse, "I'm _not_ hungry!" Her concern irked him. He had been counting on her cool, uncaring attitude throughout this case- she wasn't helping at all!

"Booth, be rational-" she began, but he cut her off in a raised voice.

"Rational? I am being rational! _You're_ not being rational!" Fisher, Cam, and Hodgins began to stir uneasily, noticing a turn in the usual banter. Brennan was infuriated.

"_I_ am being completely rational! A man your age and size should consume approximately 2,500 calories daily. All you've eaten today is an abnormally small danish and a cup of coffee which you didn't even finish- my logic is sound!" Brennan cried, aghast at the attack on her reasoning.

"I'm so, so, _so_ sorry," Booth said sarcastically, "that I assaulted your faultless logic. Squint it up all you want, just know that no normal person will understand, Bones. It must be hard to be hit in the only spot that functions correctly, because God knows you haven't got any compassion to fall back on!" By now the squints were frozen still in astonishment. They'd seen the two partners bicker and wrangle, but nothing to this magnitude. The heated argument echoed across the platform.

"That's completely _irrelevant!_" Brennan screeched, a defensive note in her voice, "We're talking about nutrition for Christ's sake!"

"Thought you didn't believe in God? Kind of hypocritical, huh? Not a surprise- you didn't believe in us nine months ago, but you suddenly believe in us now! For someone so _rational_, you just don't get it, do you?" Brennan was suddenly aware of where they were, whose company they were in. This was supremely unprofessional, and now everyone would know… Brennan tried to form words, but they wouldn't come out. Instead, she was appalled to feel warm tears slithering down her cheeks.

"You just don't get it! I'm with Hannah now! Inviting me for lunch every fucking day isn't going to change anything, _Brennan_. We're done! We never were, and we never will be, okay? Just… get a clue."

And she watched, horrified, as he left the lab, and the automatic doors closed with their usual _swish_, the only sound in the silent establishment. The noiseless atmosphere was suddenly interrupted by the only oblivious squint.

"Hey, Bren, sweetie? Would you like to take a lunch break? Thai, the Diner, the cafeteria?" Angela's heels clicked, loud in the stillness as she passed the drawing pad to her husband and approached her friend.

"Bren? Are you crying?" Angela said, alarm colouring her tone.

The sound of her voice seemed to return everyone in the lab to reality. Hodgins dropped the pad, still in shock, before fumbling with a slide and returning to his microscope. Fisher murmured to himself about hate and relationship issues, while glancing over the victim's distal radius. Cam asserted her influence and yelled at a few straggling employees in her most authoritarian tone.

The Jeffersonian began to emulate what its most prized scientist did best; it compartmentalized, and tried to move on.

o-o-o

Booth narrowly missed several poles as he angrily weaved through the garage at an illegal, unsafe, (and irrational) speed. He remembered what he had been taught in driver's ed- you always have a life in your hands. And with that comes the risk of hurting someone, and you couldn't take that back. They told it to him again in the army, and again at Quantico. He'd been warned time and time again. Hell, even Cam had cautioned him.

Don't make hasty decisions.

Think before you speak.

Once it's out there, it can't be taken back.

Well he had first hand experience of that. Booth slowed the car, sighing. _I owe her that much at least_. He could walk right back in there and apologize. He could give her a rational explanation of why he was upset. He could give in and tell her about the operation.

Oh, wait. He couldn't.

So Booth did what almost any man does when faced with a situation too pressing, stressful, and sensitive for his liking. He went to get some food, beer, and watch some hockey. Booth felt guilty about going into the Diner after he had just fought with Bones about having lunch there. Hell, he felt guilty about the whole thing. But now was not the time to dwell on such things. He had to think about how and when he was going to fake his death. For all he knew, Cullen or Hacker had already sent out a deadline. It was all so clinical, and Booth didn't like it one bit.

He grabbed his burger, and noted fondly that he had been accustomed to ordering fries for Bones to eat. _I really ought to apologize…_ Moving on to happier thoughts as Booth so often did, he considered the six-pack in his fridge, and the Flyers game he had intended to tape but could now watch live.

Unfortunately, his falsely cheerful musings were interrupted by the popping noise of a gunshot.

o-o-o

When Booth first heard the noise, he was comfortable. He knew this noise; he had lived with it for years of his life. He was capable of creating it. It was not unknown or difficult to comprehend.

Of course, this feeling lasted all of one second. After that, Booth's trained instincts kicked in.

"Get down, get down!" he yelled, gesturing people behind the counter. He grabbed the shoulders of a spotty teen and shoved him behind the pie display, girlfriend in tow. Several more shots rang through the Diner, and some of the waitresses began to cry, too terrified to leave the establishment or even move towards the kitchens. Feeling rather mental, Booth realized that he was standing in open fire, and was about to join the rest of the people behind the counter when he saw the bullet fly through the air. Towards a woman. With a child.

That was inaccurate. He didn't see the bullet, rather than hear it. In the films, they say a bullet cuts through the air with a rambunctious bang. In real life, it pulls through the air with a whistling noise created by the oscillation of air molecules your ear. _Way to squint it up, Agent_, he thought as he jumped its path to push her out of the way. The bullet came towards him almost in slow-motion, this part of the familiar process similar to the movies. He brought his hand up to block it and felt in pierce through the appendage. The pain was excruciating, and in his slowed-down, pain-induced haze, he remembered Bones saying that the hands and feet had the most bones, and were therefore susceptible to the most painful injuries. But this, this was worse than he could've imagined.. This was hurting _all over_. Blinking back the spots in front of his eyes, Booth crawled behind the counter and waited with the rest of the silent, frightened patrons. However, the atmosphere outdoors mirrored that of the Diner. There was no noise, no gunfire. _The coast is clear_.

Cradling his hand, Booth walked towards the exit, relaxing as he heard the sounds of sirens. The clamour from the officers was urgent as they steadied him and helped him back towards the ambulance. Their voices were alarmed, but for some reason indistinguishable.

As he was lowered onto the stretcher, Booth became aware of a second, more acute pain stemming from his leg. _Gunshot wounds to the thigh are much higher-risk, as the trajectory of the bullet can impact the femoral arteries, resulting in high blood loss,_ he remembered, as everything faded to black.

o-o-o


	6. Confusion

**Author's Note: Cheers, all! I'm in London now, so timing may be off- not because of the difference, but rather because jet-lag and I aren't friends. I really like this chapter, and I hope you do too! It's kind of Angela-centric, but not really at the same time. I'm making no sense, sorry, I'm just terribly tired. :) If you don't always read the song lyrics I post with each chapter, please read these, and if you would, listen to the song. I really do like it. Thank you a million for a the favorites, alerts, and reviews. I've had some proper lengthy discussions with you all and the response always leaves me quite chuffed! Just getting up and seeing a dozen unread emails does a lot for a college girl's ego :) Thanks so much to Steph, my beta, for all her help and check out her story _The Doubt in the Anthropologist_- it's a must-read for any Brennan lovers. Oh and it's a one-shot, so it's quick reading, but very powerful :)Just a disclaimer before we move on: all of Bones and its characters belong to Hart Hanson and Fox, not me. This does make me sad :(**

_Both Sides, Now_ by Joni Mitchell

_Tears and fears and feeling proud  
>To say "I love you" right out loud<br>Dreams and schemes and circus crowds  
>I've looked at life that way<em>

_But now old friends are acting strange  
>They shake their heads, they say I've changed<br>Well something's lost, but something's gained  
>In living every day<em>

_I've looked at life from both sides now  
>From win and lose and still somehow<br>It's life's illusions I recall really don't know life at all_

Chapter Five- Confusion

She felt humiliated.

It was almost humorous, how the proud Temperance Brennan used 'humiliated' to describe her feelings. A myriad of emotions nearly swallowed her up, and she began to tremble. She brushed away her sooty tears, praying her makeup wasn't too smudged, praying that she had clung on to some shred of dignity. She bit her lip and swallowed shakily so as not to make a noise. Through her haze of concentration, Brennan vaguely heard Angela.

_Oh._

Angela was here. She had asked Brennan if she wanted lunch. _Yes_, thought Brennan, her rational mind pushing away the pain, _I want lunch. That was my original intent, wasn't it? Lunch._ Feeling tremors run through her body that weren't her own, Brennan realized Angela was shaking her. Brennan blinked a couple times, startled.

"I'm sorry, Ange. Booth and I… we had a disagreement. Yes, yes I would love to go to lunch. Let's go to the diner," she offered, sniffing her nose and straightening up. She swiped under her eyes once more, quickly checking her fingers, and was relieved to see no black. Satisfied, she glanced back up at her friend, who was staring at her cautiously. Brennan almost smiled. This was one of the very few times she knew exactly what Angela was thinking. He would be proud.

"And then, Ange? We can talk about it."

o-o-o

When Booth woke up, it was not to the face of Parker, or Hannah, or Bones. It was to the solemn face of Hacker, who was gazing at him expectantly.

"Booth, you're awake." _What a pointless observation_, thought Booth, slightly upset by the realization that he wasn't going to be able to see anyone he cared about for the next few months.

"I'd like to introduce you to your colleague, Sebastian Cliffe. He is a top psychologist and criminal profiler and will be assisting you in your case concerning Harley." Booth grunted to indicate acknowledgment and Hacker left. Booth immediately did not like Sebastian Cliffe, because no matter how much he tried, Sebastian Cliffe would never be Sweets.

Cliffe stepped forward. He was tall, about the same height as Booth, with blonde hair and calculating hazel eyes. He sat down next to Booth's bed and frowned at him, before relaxing his face and raising an eyebrow.

"Sulking, huh?" He smiled down at Booth, who stared back at him expressionlessly. Booth did not like Sebastian Cliffe.

"I would be too. Really sucks to be you now, doesn't it? Shot in the thigh _and_ the hand, stuck in a federal protection facility with no family or friends to visit you, and no contact until the official death announcement? Ouch." Cliffe smirked and leaned back in the chair, twiddling his thumbs. Booth _really_ did not like Sebastian Cliffe.

"Is this some sort of shrink-y, reverse psychology, Freudian slip attempt? Because it's not working," Booth squabbled, his mouth stale and dry. "Can I have some water?" Cliffe produced some water and a plate of apple pie. Suddenly, Booth liked Sebastian Cliffe a whole lot more. Cliffe smiled ruefully.

"We heard you were partial to pie. We'll try to make your stay here comfortable, but it'll probably just be really awful. You can call me Cliffe or Seb, but whatever makes you feel comfortable works with me," Cliffe said. Booth munched on his pie and grunted again, feeling slightly more cooperative.

"Does Hannah know?" Cliffe scrunched up his nose.

"I'm not sure," he said honestly, "she's probably at GW now, but I've sent Agent Parriera out to inform her. This is Hannah Burley, your non-familial contact, correct?" Booth nodded, feeling an all-too familiar rush of guilt at his broken promise to his partner. Cliffe misread Booth's expression, and attempted to reassure him.

"Don't worry, Agent, you'll be able to speak with her and your family after 48 hours, and you can page her as soon as we report you dead. It's just a precaution to make sure no one slips up and spills the beans."

Booth really wished someone would spill the beans.

o-o-o

Angela wasn't mad. She wasn't upset. She wasn't devastated.

Angela was confused.

This _was_ Booth that Brennan spoke of, right? And there's no way she was lying or exaggerating about what had happened. Brennan didn't lie or exaggerate. She told it like it was. She'd told Angela exactly what had happened, and then performed an excellent impression of a marble sculpture Angela had once admired at the Louvre. _And something it must have been,_ though Angela,_ Everyone was shell-shocked! _Angela told this to the unusually quiet Brennan, just to prompt an "I don't know what that means" from her. It didn't help.

As they neared the Diner, the traffic slowed considerably. Angela frowned and, eyes on the road, asked Brennan, "Are they doing road work?" Brennan shook her head imperceptibly as she looked out the window. Angela sighed at the back of Brennan's head, and tried again.

"How do you know?" Brennan coughed, and Angela realized with a shock that Bren had been crying noiselessly for some time.

"They finished construction on this section of the street just yesterday," Brennan answered. "They had to repair a water main break." Her spine straightened and she glanced at her friend. "Maybe there was a crime?"

Angela smiled at her almost-excitement.

"You sound way too hopeful, Bren," she chided, chuckling. Her amusement quickly faded as the Royal Diner came into view. The glass was shot straight through with several holes, and there were television cameras outside. Angela's trained forensic mind visualized the flight the bullets had taken and calculated different types of common guns in her head, almost by instinct. By this time, Brennan too had noticed the scene, and looked on worriedly.

"Ange, stop the car," she commanded, authority returning to her voice in a rush. Angela furrowed her eyebrows and looked at Brennan seriously.

"Bren-" she hesitated, unsure of the best way to tell her friend this was _not_ a good idea. Brennan raised an eyebrow.

"Look, Ange, Emma could've been hurt- _Emma!_" Angela stared at Brennan, her anxiety morphing into confusion. Angela figured that she was confused enough for one say.

"…Emma?"

Brennan rolled her eyes impatiently.

"_Yes_! Emma! The waitress who serves us almost every day? Her! She could've been hurt- or worse, dead! I need to be in there now! It's safe, there's marked tape and everything!"

Angela was struck with disbelief - not for the first time since Brennan's return from Maluku - that her friend was so observant and considerate. She was at the Diner just as often as Brennan, yet she would never have known the waitress' name. All she knew was that it was the same waitress every time. The slam of the car door brought her back to the present, and she gazed at Brennan's retreating form in awe. Still in a state of incredulity, Angela jerked forward, attempting to score some street parking in the crowded street. Acknowledging her stuck state, she moved closer to the news anchor of Fox 5, set the vehicle in 'park' and craned her neck out the passenger window to hear the news.

"Fox Five, this is Janet Allen, here at popular food stop, the Royal Diner, at Q and 18th. However, today the friendly atmosphere of the eatery has been broken by a tragic attack. They say that a hero arises in the face of danger, and that truly was the case here. Risking his life for the sake of strangers, Special Agent Seeley Booth of the FBI received gunshot wounds in the leg and hand while protecting Lucile Johnson, 32, and her son Adam, as well as the other diners. Agent Booth was taken to George Washington Hospital for treatment- we do not have updates on his conditions as of yet. The gunman was unidentified, although FBI will be releasing information shortly- stay tuned for more information. This is Janet Allen, Fox Five. Back to you, Sandra!"

The news anchor dropped her smile, stepped away from the camera, and accepted a bottle of water. Angela stayed frozen, neck out the window, until a car honk made her scream a little in surprise. Seeing a wide stretch of empty 18th street in front of her, Angela switched gears and drove forward, still in a daze. _I need to get Bren._

o-o-o

Brennan loitered around the entrance of the Diner, realizing a bit late that without a media pass or an FBI badge to flash, she wasn't getting in. However, she was greatly relieved when a police officer grudgingly allowed her the information that there were no casualties, and only one injury. In fact, she was considering calling Mai Thai and ordering lunch for the whole lab until Angela ran towards her, wild and sweaty, clutching her pregnant belly and pulling her phone from her handbag.

"Ange? Ange, what's wrong?" Brennan asked frantically, all prior traces of relief dissolving as quickly as they'd come. Angela cried, flustered, "Booth was here!" unsure of what else to say. Brennan didn't understand.

"Booth did this?" she asked, shocked. _An altercation was one thing, but armed attack…_ Ange shook her head furiously, swallowing to moisten her dry throat.

"Booth was here… he was injured saving someone else- he's at GW now! They said he was shot in the hand and leg. If it was the thigh…" she trailed off. They'd both seen enough murder to know what a thigh wound meant.

"Let's go," said Brennan without hesitation, taking off in the direction Angela had come from. "Come on."

They were in the car soon enough, and off to the hospital. Brennan tried to focus on what she would do when she got to the emergency room, but all she could do was ponder in her fog of confusion.

_Why was he the only one hurt? Why would someone attack the Diner? Why does Booth like saving people so much? Why was he even at the Diner? Why didn't they call me?_

o-o-o


	7. Tears

**Author's Note: So this chapter is a bit longer than usual, and is only Brennan, no Booth. Obviously this is a big chapter (plot-wise) and I felt like including Booth were he didn't belong just for the sake of sticking him the chapter would kill it. Innumerable thanks to my lovely beta Steph, without whom this chapter would have been a complete and utter failure. Special thanks to my most passionate reviewer, Candigirl510, for her lengthy and ego-boosting reviews. They make my day, thanks! As always, a disclaimer: I don't own Bones, because if I did, then Season 7 would air tonight! Still in England, so sorry if the timing's off- lots of love, and happy reading! (see you all next Wednesday!)**

_Secret Smile_ by Phish

_Sometimes when the evening's young  
><em>_The wind dies down, the setting sun  
><em>_Crochets the clouds with yarn so fine  
><em>_And fills the oceans with red wine_

_The trees, the sky, the forest fair  
><em>_Bring a flavor to the air  
><em>_I raise my glass and in a while  
><em>_You answer with a secret smile_

_Hold on, hold on to me_

_An airborne leaf that landed near Has carried Dionysus here  
><em>_He'll slip away but only when  
><em>_He sees our glasses filled again_

Chapter Six: Tears

She ran in to the hospital, vaguely pondering the average number of times someone went to such an establishment. Not recalling any such statistics, Brennan thought it fair to assume that her attendance at GW was far above average.

The white halls she and Angela were racing through were far too familiar. They made it to the emergency room. She knew the nurses and secretaries far too well. Stacy said that someone would talk to them shortly. She was far too accustomed to the chairs here. A woman she dimly remembered walked into the room towards them. She was here far too often_._

Angela stood up, and Brennan started, so surprised at such a speedy update, that she rose a second late. Upon closer inspection, Brennan recognized the agent.

"Agent Parriera," Brennan greeted, searching her memory to affix the correct name to the face. Parriera dipped her head in acknowledgment.

"Dr. Brennan, Miss Montenegro," the agent said. Greetings out of the way, Brennan had some questions that needed answering.

"Agent Parriera," Brennan repeated. "What exactly happened? Who was the gunman? Has he been caught? Why did he target the Diner? How is Booth? Where was he shot? Why was I not informed?" Agent Parriera blinked.

"I'm sorry, but not all of that information is available, I hope you'll understand," she said worriedly. "But, of course, I'll do my best to answer your questions."

o-o-o

Parriera was torn. She, as well as half of the Bureau had been privy to the ongoing dynamic that was the Booth/Brennan partnership. She'd been an intern when they'd run their first official case as partners, after Dr. Brennan had returned from Guatemala. Eventually she'd scored a position on the team, and had continued to watch the drama like a popular television show. She'd heard Booth call Dr. Brennan 'Bones' for the first time almost five years back, and thought it was absurd, but adorable. She'd laughed with her friends during their lunch break at the thought of the quirky squint team stuck together in the Jeffersonian over Christmas. But she (and the rest of the followers of the partnership) had been torn between glee at the opportunities a holiday together posed for the partners and a silent dread that they might not make it out alive. She'd seen the dolphin belt buckle and the paperwork on the case when Allison from Archives and Filing stopped by her desk before delivering them to the Jeffersonian.

Parriera had been struck with fear for Brennan and the entomologist (but mostly for Brennan) when the Gravedigger had buried them alive. She'd seen Booth's frantic face as he stormed through the offices, yelling at Caroline and demanding more agents be assigned before angrily departing for the Jeffersonian. She was immensely relieved when they were found alive and the team reunited. She'd smiled when she walked by Dr. Sweets' office and heard them arguing about pony play dreams, wishing they'd just do it already. She'd heard that Brennan had accidentally shot Booth while rescuing a victim, and thought it hilariously endearing. She'd watched Brennan smile brilliantly as Brennan and Booth coddled a baby in his office instead of doing her paperwork. She'd also watched Brennan's stoic face at the funeral of her very much alive partner (feeling for once that the Booth/ Brennan almost-romance never would be) - and seen the great right hook the squint delivered. She'd selfishly (was it selfish?) hoped that Zachary Addy's imprisonment would at least bring them closer.

Parriera had been angry and snappy (but it wasn't noticed, because practically everyone else was the same) when the duo had shipped off to England, hating missing the action. She'd also casually gossiped about the side-romance that wasn't of the entomologist and the artist, and the triangle with the artist's lesbian girlfriend. She'd found that to be less interesting, however. She'd decided that the two had done enough travelling when they went to China, and had been perfectly cross when they'd gone again to Oklahoma. She'd then heard about the knife-throwing debacle and decided Oklahoma wasn't so bad. She'd almost died of jealousy when Payton Perotta got to work with the Jeffersonian after Booth went missing. She'd gotten the good details from her friend later, and felt proper guilty for being so petty when Booth was in danger. She'd practically fallen into a depression when she heard Brennan talking to Hacker about the surgery. She'd felt loads happier when Emily from Linguistics (who had heard from Alan from Cultural Anthropology at the Jeffersonian, who had heard from Camille from… well, the squint squad) had told her that Brennan had to retrieve evidence from Booth by stripping him down to his boxers. She'd also wished she'd been there, and realized at this point that she needed a boyfriend. She'd got her guy a few months later, and he'd mellowed her quite a bit,but she had still been intrigued (what a lie, she'd been fascinated) by the not-so-secret (Hacker had come back to the offices looking… ruffled) JFK case and the tension between Hodgins (she'd learned his name by this point) and Booth. She'd matured a lot by the time news spread of the unfortunate rejection, but still found the failure disheartening. She'd decided at that point that she'd stick through with whatever happened, because they had to get together in the end. She stuck with her belief through the sabbatical.

Parriera stuck with her belief until Hannah. _Hannah._ She'd been struck by the change in Booth his first day back, when he didn't defend Brennan, and rather chuckled with Caroline, comparing the two women in his life who simply could not be compared. She'd wanted to defend the squint herself, but realized that her relationship with the two was strictly from the sidelines. She'd swallowed her prejudice, however, and realized that Brennan _had_ rejected Booth, and Booth was completely entitled to a new girlfriend. She'd stuck to her belief, no matter how difficult it had been.

So when Parriera first heard that Booth's one non-familial member was Hannah, she hadn't been worried. Because, in Parriera's eyes, Brennan counted as Booth's family. But the harsh reality truly set in as she stood in front of Brennan, so soon after ushering Hannah out, and sorted through the questions the squint had methodically posed, trying to find the best way to tell Brennan that the love of her life was dead.

o-o-o

"Thank you," Brennan said, honestly. She had always liked Agent Parriera, someone she'd encountered on several occasions at the Bureau, who seemed to know quite a lot about her and Booth's cases. _Most of the agents did, really_. She briefly wondered why, but then shoved that thought back as Parriera began to speak.

"Doctor Brennan, there's… there's something I need to tell you before I get into any of this. Something you need to know, before everyone else, before the press. I really have no idea how to tell you this," Parriera paused, and Brennan's heart sped. "Agent Booth was shot twice." Another pause. Parriera spoke in technical terms- she had been a nurse in college and figured it would set Brennan at ease.

"Once in the hand, fracturing the scaphoid, lunate, and trapezium, as well as bruising the radius… and once near the femur… rupturing the femoral artery."

o-o-o

It was the coldest possible way to do it. To say Booth was dead. The artist and the anthropologist had been working in forensics for long enough- they knew what this meant.

"Oh my god. Oh… oh my god!" The pregnant artist (Angelina? Angelica?) sank back into the uncomfortable hospital chair. Brennan simply stared back at Parriera. She opened her mouth, then closed it, then opened it again to speak.

"Gunshot wounds to the thigh are much higher-risk, as the trajectory of the bullet can impact the femoral arteries, resulting in high blood loss. If the bullet completely ruptures the femoral artery, the victim will likely bleed out in under a minute." Closing her eyes, Parriera collected herself, her mind flashing back to Brennan's face at the funeral three years ago. Her expression now was startlingly similar. She continued on as if nothing had happened. If anything, she knew Brennan loved routine.

"The gunman was Gage Fletcher Harley. As you are clearly aware, he is the subject of the case you are working. The Bureau will no doubt demand that you drop the case on personal interest. We will, without a doubt, have the FBI on it. He is, unfortunately, still in the wind. He targeted the Diner on an impulse, we assume, but we've assigned a profiler to pay closer attention the intricacies. And… you were not called because you are not Agent Booth's medical proxy." Brennan's eyes did not convey surprise. The artist was still in a state of shock, rocking in the chair, but she was not a priority.

"Of course. I'd forgotten. How did Hannah take it?" For the first time, Brennan's eyes held emotion- and rather than jealousy, it was concern. _Could they possibly be friends?_

"She… she went home." Parriera couldn't bring herself to lie. Brennan straightened, emotions all of a sudden rushing back to her face. Stress, fear, devastation… all was better than the cold stillness. Parriera was glad Brennan was clearly choosing to deal with her emotions rather than fight them.

"That's what I should do too," said Brennan, her voice suddenly worn. She carefully touched her friend, pulling her to her feet. The woman seemed to be completely out of touch. Parriera realized that her pregnancy hormones would be maximizing the volume of emotions she was feeling. Brennan seemed to be thinking along the same lines.

"Come on, Ange, let's go. Give me your keys, I'll drive." Parriera greatly admired Temperance Brennan in that moment. She was staying strong but not detached.

"Thank you," Brennan's voice broke through her thoughts.

"I'm so sorry for your loss," Parriera said sadly, and Brennan froze. It was the first time the truth had been acknowledged. Brennan dipped her head and led her friend out of the room.

o-o-o

The conversation with Hodgins must have been one of the worst of her life. He hadn't believed her at first. She couldn't blame him. She was still working on comprehending it herself. Brennan sighed, deciding to push away her inner scientist (something she had become increasingly good at) and resolved to spend the evening relaxing and taking her own time to deal. She would face the consequences of the tragedy tomorrow.

Of course all of this was shot to hell when her feelings surged forward in an unhealthy way, threatening to overwhelm her.

Booth was dead.

Booth was _dead._

_No._

She hadn't realized she'd said it out loud until she made it to her apartment, fumbling with the keys. The one utterance was now a steady chorus.

"No, no, _no!_" the last denial a screech, Brennan was suddenly irate. She grabbed the nearest item and threw it against the wall, feeling satisfaction as it cracked a bit and left a small dent in the plaster.

_No._

Upset now for a different reason, the mindless Temperance Brennan ran to the figurine and squatted to pick it up. Jasper the pig had a crack running from between his ears to his stomach. As she cradled the toy tenderly, a piece fell apart.

_No._

She set the pig down and ran to her vanity. In a haze of desperation, Brennan spent the next hour and a half gluing the pig together with clear nail polish, and using her most expensive shade of pink varnish to hide the crack. Carefully setting Jasper back in his rightful place, Brennan sat back. Without the distraction, she was left to deal with her feelings.

Steadying her resolve, Brennan returned the cosmetics to her bedroom and grabbed a large mug Angela had painted for her. She set water to boil, and set out to pick a tea bag. As the water boiled, Brennan took a shower, breathing in and out slowly. Salt water mixed with the shower spray on her face, and she stopped her tears angrily. _She would not cry._ Brennan slid on a robe, finished her tea, and sat on the bed listlessly. Flashbacks overwhelmed her as she remembered being in a nearly identical position three years ago. Except for then, Angela had driven _her_ home from the hospital after the doctor had declared Booth dead.

_Dead,_ thought Brennan._ Booth is dead._

She thought about her coping mechanisms that she had used so long ago. Sweets had said she'd compartmentalized. She was doing that now, but she was facing the issue. She was proud of herself.

_Sick,_ she chided herself, _gaining from Booth's death._ She would be calm and collected. She would _not _cry. She'd cried back then, however. Secretly, when Angela wasn't looking and in her office between limbo cases and paperwork. She'd gone to Booth's apartment, too. Wore his shirts, his crazy socks, used his shampoo. She couldn't do that now, though. Because Booth had Hannah. Booth used to have Hannah. Brennan figured Hannah was nicely grieving in their apartment, like a normal person, not throwing gifts from her dead friend at the wall. She pondered their relationship. She'd loved him, she was sure. He'd never loved her, not that she knew, but he'd wanted her. Once.

He'd wanted her then, but he hated her now. He'd hated her when he died.

She wondered if things would have been different, had she said yes. She thought they wouldn't have changed- she was too strange, abnormal, freakish. He would've left her for someone like Hannah. _She could be like Hannah. _She knew she was lying to herself. Not when she had to follow guidelines to mourn. Especially not when she didn't even follow them. She would not _cry._

Indiscriminately, she realized that no one would ever call her 'Bones' again.

And she cried.

o-o-o


	8. Lost

**Author's Note: I lied. Bad Scarlett. I told you I'd see you all on Wednesday and it's Friday. Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry! I apologize profusely. I have had the heaviest of heavy weeks, and I reckon if it weren't for you all having expectations, this tiny chapter wouldn't even be here. Special thanks to Steph, my bloody awesome beta (she's been swamped recently as well) and to all of you readers and reviewers. I promise long, angsty, punctual goodness next Wednesday! As usual, a disclaimer: I don't own Bones (if I did, I would be even more stressed than I am now... and that's hard to top) all characters go to Hart Hanson and FOX. Again, I'm so sorry, and I hope you like the chapter! See you all on Wednesday (for real!)**

_Fix You_ by Coldplay

_When you try your best, but you don't succeed  
><em>_When you get what you want, but not what you need  
><em>_When you feel so tired, but you can't sleep  
><em>_Stuck in reverse_

_And the tears come streaming down your face  
><em>_When you lose something you can't replace  
><em>_When you love someone, but it goes to waste  
><em>_Could it be worse?_

_Lights will guide you home  
><em>_And ignite your bones  
><em>_And I will try to fix you_

_And high up above or down below  
><em>_When you're too in love to let it go  
><em>_But if you never try you'll never know  
><em>_Just what you're worth_

_Lights will guide you home  
><em>_And ignite your bones  
><em>_And I will try to fix you_

Chapter Seven: Lost

"White-collar job, average lifestyle, no children. Good looking, proficient, highly intelligent. Sporadic, intentional, pattern-no-pattern objectives. Anger management, control complex, intermittent-"

"My _God_, would you just tell me what it means?" Booth exclaimed, at his wit's end. The psychologist had been spouting three word phrases and squinting in a very Jeffersonian-esque manner at case files for the past two hours, with not a word on what all of it meant. Cliffe frowned at Booth imperiously, and then smirked.

"Impatient, snarky, unappreciative," he laughed at Booth, with a wink. Booth scowled. He was not having a good week at all. He hadn't heard once from anyone, not Parker, Jared, Hank, Hannah…

At least not in person.

He'd paged Hannah a few times, and told Parker he was on a business trip. Parker, being ten years old at this point, had paged back in a patronizing manner, and with appalling punctuation. If this were a normal week, Booth would've shown the text message to Bones, who would've been torn between feeling aghast at Park's grammar, and proud of his deductive skills. However, this was not a normal week- Booth was stuck in a drab room with an irritating profiler and large amounts of pie. He couldn't so much as look at a fry without thinking of Bones, and had stopped eating pork for fear of pondering Jasper's condition.

Cliffe sensed Booth's frustration and acquiesced.

"It means," he explained, "that Harley has a mental disorder. 'Pattern-no-pattern objectives' is a term used to describe the intention of killing spontaneously simply for the purpose for killing spontaneously."

"So… his pattern was no pattern?" Booth echoed, a bit confused. Cliffe smiled.

"Exactly. I suspect that Harley may have had intermittent explosive disorder, commonly referred to as IED, which is a severe form of anger management issues, with a component of a control complex. Pretty much, when this dude gets angry, he gets _angry_- and likes to shoot people to act as a sort of God."

"Choosing who lives, and who dies," Booth murmured, "That's… I have no description for how twisted that is." Cliffe nodded his agreement furiously, and Booth was struck at how similar he was to Sweets. Except for decidedly more authoritarian. And… squinty.

Booth sighed. He had to wrap up this case as quickly as possible.

"Okey-dokey, Cliffe. Now what do we know about his habitual preferences?"

o-o-o

She stared at her phone in the morning, expecting a volley of missed calls, text messages, and voicemails from Angela. Instead, she received one message from Hodgins- _Told everyone, don't worry about it._

As impersonal as it may be, Brennan felt a rush of warmth when she read the message. She had known Hodgins longer than she had known any of her 'family'. They'd had a silent bond that had only ever been acknowledged once, but was appreciated on both sides. Without one or the other, the lab was fruitless. The way they worked, Hodgins calling out CODs (sometimes based on facts, other times based on nothing at all) and her confirming (or refuting) his theories with the steady aid of her bones… it was a system that worked. And it worked well.

Hodgins was more her brother than Russ.

He was one of the few people she truly knew inside and out. So when she received the message, she didn't read it as taciturn and emotionless. She read in between the lines, so to speak (this was a colloquialism Cam had taught her).

Hodgins knew Brennan was struggling. He'd told everyone, which was hard on him, but he was holding up the fort. Angela was clearly indisposed, and this was of course stressful. He didn't want Brennan working herself up, and he would be upset if she went to work. Also, he wanted her to expect calls from Cam, Sweets, and possibly Zach.

Brennan almost smiled and began to text Hodgins. She had to delete the message a few times till it was acceptable.

_Thanks. I'm taking a few days off; you and Ange should, too. How is she?_

She pressed send, and resumed gazing blankly at her mobile. She didn't know what to do. She wondered how Hodgins was doing, considering all his efforts, and was worried about Ange. She felt for Cam, and Michelle, and also Daisy and Sweets.

_Sweets._ _Of course._

Getting ready with a vengeance, Brennan threw on a t-shirt and a pair of jeans, pulled her hair into a neat ponytail and secured her bangs with a clip. She tossed her phone in her handbag, grabbed her keys out of her Egyptian lotus bowl and practically flitted out the door. Within minutes (so what if she was speeding?) she was at the J. Edgar Hoover building. In less time than it took for her to recite all the bones in the inner ear (and that was a very short amount of time) Brennan was in front of Sweets' office. Gathering up her courage, she prepared to enter, but was surprised to see Sweets and a group of other FBI personnel rounding the corner to her right. Eyes glimmering, Brennan stalked up to the young psychologist and shoved him up against the wall. He squeaked, surprised and terrified. _That may have been a bit much_, her rational self reminded her. Brennan pushed all rational thoughts to the background and tightened her grip on his clavicle.

"Doc-Doctor Brennan?" Sweets spluttered, shocked. The other agents stood uneasily, unsure of what to do. Sweets wondered if Booth's death had made Brennan go wonky- a very non-psychological comment that was erroneous and exorbitantly imprecise, but that ran through his mind nonetheless.

"You tell me _now_. You tell me and you give me the _fucking_ number Sweets," Brennan fumed, her sharp gaze piercing him like an arrow, "I'm not a test, okay? Because if I am, you've won. I'm not compartmentalizing. I'm losing it. So give me that number Sweets, or just tell me. Just. Tell. Me. I'm on that list, Sweets, I'm on that list."

Sweets staggered back as her grip slackened, and tried to muster up the nerve to tell her that there was no list.

o-o-o


	9. Fake

**Author's Note: Hey everyone! So back on schedule, again. I start school next week so things will get a little crazy but I'll do my best to be consistent. This is a sad chapter, and I am focusing much more on Brennan at this point than Booth just because it's Brennan's story to tell. Thanks as always to my wonderful reviewers Candigirl510 and alexindigo for their great reviews, and of course to my awesome beta Steph. As a disclaimer: I do not own any of Bones, all rights go to Hart Hanson and FOX. Happy Wednesday and read on!**

_Live To Tell _by Madonna

_I have a tale to tell  
><em>_Sometimes it gets so hard to hide it well  
><em>_I was not ready for the fall  
><em>_Too blind to see the writing on the wall_

_A man can tell a thousand lies  
><em>_I've learned my lesson well  
><em>_Hope I live to tell  
><em>_The secret I have learned, 'till then  
><em>_It will burn inside of me_

_I know where beauty lives  
><em>_I've seen it once, I know the warm she gives  
><em>_The light that you could never see  
><em>_It shines inside, you can't take that from her_

Chapter Eight: Fake

Brennan sighed and shifted uncomfortably in the black dress Cam's daughter Michelle had lent her. She hardly owned one modest or plain enough for such an occasion.

A funeral.  
>For Booth.<p>

Beside her stood Cam, Michelle, and Cam's gynaecologist boyfriend whose name Brennan couldn't be bothered to remember. Next to them stood Sweets, Agent Burns, Agent Parriera, Hacker, and Cullen. Brennan realized with a twinge of guilt that Sweets had positioned himself far away from her and close to imperious, lawful, and mildly dangerous people. On Brennan's other side stood Hodgins, Angela (who hadn't spoken a word since _that_ day), and Zach. Brennan had been very glad to see Zach.

Admittedly, he was accompanied by a burly security officer and was wearing handcuffs and he had grown some facial hair, but he was still the same old Zach. She promised to visit him twice a week from now on, after having the sudden realization that he, too, could one day be the victim of a violent spontaneous massacre. Zach himself had pointed out that he could have, at any point in his life, been a victim of a violent spontaneous massacre ("That's why it's called spontaneous, Doctor Brennan."). Zach's presence had been comforting in many ways. His rationality was refreshing - Brennan understood that in the wake of Booth's death her friends' actions had been dominated by emotion. He, like Brennan, had grown psychologically and socially while in the facility, and so she understood him and his struggles well.

She saw Jared and Hank standing together, talking seriously. _No doubt making financial arrangements_, Brennan assumed, as they both looked rather put together. She was debating whether to go and speak with them, when she noticed Hannah standing alone in a corner of the area. She felt pity for Hannah, losing her boyfriend in the wake of a new and promising relationship. She pushed aside the nastier thoughts of satisfaction that now Hannah would no longer be with Booth. _Those are the thoughts that serial killers have, Tempe,_ she reminded herself.

By this point, Hannah appeared to have located "the squints" and made her way over. She stood beside Brennan, in between her and Cam, silently. Brennan turned to look at her and saw that Hannah was watching her contemplatively. She smiled a secret smile to Brennan, and said sadly, "It will get better, Temperance, I promise."

Brennan didn't smile back.  
>She hadn't smiled since <em>that<em> day. Instead, she dipped her head in acknowledgment.  
>"I know, Hannah," she said sagely. "But it doesn't make it any easier."<p>

Brennan stared ahead pensively, feeling like she could breathe for the first time in two weeks. _It's wrong to feel like this,_ Brennan considered, _at a funeral._ Just as the thought crossed her mind, music began to play and Brennan sucked in a breath as the pallbearers brought the coffin towards where everyone was gathered.

_Don't focus on it… think positive._ Brennan's mind flitted back to what Sweets had said three years ago.

_What a nice coffin. Good wood. Looks comfortable._ The people surrounding her shifted uneasily, and Brennan realized that she had spoken aloud. Blushing furiously, she ducked her head down, her embarrassment a suitable distraction from the coffin. As the speeches began, Brennan closed her eyes, her chin tucked into her jacket collar.

_What if…_ Brennan scoffed at the thought. _There's no way that…_ She'd already confronted Sweets. This was real. _This was real_. Brennan forced her eyes open and stared at the grassy ground. She focused on a cricket that sprung through the green stalks in circular motions. Her eyes must look deranged, flicking in a dozen different directions. Hannah had said something about honour and heaven, and Caroline had mentioned God and sacrifice. Brennan refrained from blurting something about God's injustice. _Booth wouldn't have liked that… and it's wrong. I'm a hypocrite when I say that_, she remembered.

The soldiers prepared for the gun salute, and Brennan was assaulted with flashbacks.

_Perhaps… I'd better just check-_

Yes. Brennan couldn't live with herself if she didn't at least _check_.

She thought she was being subtle. She snuck around Hannah and behind Cam's family stealthily.

o-o-o

She was right, for the most part. Hodgins held Angela, quieting her sobs and wondering if she'd ever recover from this. Cam worried about Michelle's exposure to a funeral of a father figure, and simultaneously juggled grief for Booth's death, pride for her composure, and appreciation for Paul's helping hand the last few days. Zach stared ahead, trying to ignore the nagging voice that told him that if he'd made different choices, two high profile men with guns wouldn't shadow him at a funeral. Sweets had been especially distraught, one of the few who truly comprehended Booth's death. The FBI would've told him if this was all part of an operation. But this time it was real- _Booth was dead._

o-o-o

She approached the soldiers silently, tapping them gently on the back to get their attention as they straightened their uniforms and prepared their guns. Brennan didn't lose hope as the number of not-Booth's increased. She even checked the female officers, just to make sure. Deep inside, the scientist in her knew that none of these people was Booth.

Booth's shoulders were of a certain set, his jaw of a particular angle, his stance unique. Booth would also be unable to stand properly yet, as his thigh would still be healing. Furthermore, if one of his hands was injured, then he would by no means be able to shoot a gun.

But the scientist in Brennan was not present. Her actions became almost crazed- she frantically pushed through the soldiers, panic catching in her throat and making a croak as she began to realize Booth was not here.

Booth was not alive.

Booth was really, truly, _dead_, and she would never, ever see him again.

Her body became rigid. She had heard the words and not understood them. She had been angry at the thought of death. But she had never understood it with such clarity as she did now, standing erect and silent in the graveyard during her best friend's funeral. She swayed slightly and ran a hand through her hair, taking deep and slow breaths to calm herself. She figured she looked crazy now, shell-shocked (Was that the word Angela had used? Well the meaning was understood now) and quivering, her hair mussed and her eyes wild.

_Not that anyone noticed._

She glanced back at her friends, "the squint squad", and shivered again, feeling unnaturally cold all of a sudden.

She jumped as a hand grabbed her shoulder and another stifled her attempted scream.

o-o-o

"Jesus," said Hannah, concerned. "You'd think that I was trying to murder you! Let's sit here," She guided Brennan to a bench very close to the service, and sat her down. "You looked like you were going to fall over." Brennan studied Hannah's flushed face.

"He's dead," Brennan said simply, her eyes scanning Hannah's face critically.

"Yes," Hannah sighed, feeling wretched. "He is."

Hannah watched Brennan analyze her like a mouldy femur, and felt uneasy. _Could Brennan tell? Was Hannah blowing a high-profile government mission?_

"Are you religious?" Brennan asked suddenly. Hannah's eyes narrowed, confused.

"Um, yeah. Actually, I'm Catholic…" Hannah trailed off, even more uncomfortable than before. Brennan's eyes tightened.

"Of course." The first gunshot rang into the air, and all the fight drained out of Brennan's eyes. Hannah wasn't sure what to do to help- it was hard to live this lie- but she put an arm around Brennan's waist in a half-hug.

"Temperance…" she tried, but she just didn't know what to say. To her surprise, Brennan rested her head on Hannah's shoulder, leaning into the embrace. Hannah felt a rush of sympathy greater than anything she'd felt for Brennan since this ordeal. Knowing the rigid way Brennan normally carried herself, in was unnerving to see her crumple in front of Hannah, openly. The salute rang out, and many people began wiping tears from their eyes.

Hannah watched, struck with a new horror as a man in uniform came towards her and Brennan, bearing a flag.

"Miss Hannah Burley, please, if you would…" Hannah felt… she didn't know what to feel. She wanted to hand the flag over to Brennan and run screaming in the opposite direction. She cared for Booth, truly, but it was all so _real_ for Brennan and the others, and so fake for her. She couldn't do it, she couldn't, she wouldn't…

"Miss Burley?" Hannah looked up at the soldier, who was looking at her earnestly. The sheer self-doubt and contradiction had forced a few tears to run down her cheeks. _This is _wrong._ This is…_ her thoughts were bitter. _At least I look the part_, she figured sarcastically.

From across the yard, Jared coughed.

"I'm sorry," Hannah said, "It's just…" The soldier nodded sympathetically, cutting her off.

"I understand." _But you don't. No one does. That's the worst part._ Hannah knew it was weak, but she couldn't look back at Brennan on the bench. She accepted the folded up flag and walked towards the _fake_ coffin with the _fake_ body inside. She placed the flag on the coffin, and backed away to stand near the nice agent she'd talked to at the hospital. She didn't know what to do anymore.

o-o-o

Brennan watched Hannah put the flag on the coffin. The _real _coffin with Booth's _real_ body in it. This was all true. Hannah was crying, Brennan noticed, and Brennan touched her cheeks. Her hands came away dry. _I can't even cry,_ Brennan lamented. _I can't cry when I need to and I'm not Catholic or blonde or socially adept. _

She sat and watched until the grave was complete. She shrugged off Hodgins and Cam and Hannah and Hank. (Angela was still off the radar and Sweets was too scared. Zach had left early and didn't get to say goodbye.) Jared kissed her cheek on the way to his car and Michelle whispered, "I'm sorry." Caroline informed her that she would always have a place with the FBI and Parriera squeezed her shoulder. And while it was all very kind, Brennan didn't want Zach or Cam or Jared or Hodgins or Caroline or Hank or Parriera or Michelle or Hannah or Sweets. No, she didn't want any of that.

She wanted Booth.

Booth, and possibly Angela. But that wasn't happening now. Brennan stared at the mound of dirt in front of the headstone from the bench. Booth had always told her to talk to her mother's grave, that it helped. She tottered towards the grave, her feet unsteady after sitting for so many hours. She sat in front of the patch of earth and examined the stone.

_Seeley Booth_

_Beloved Father, Brother, and Friend._

_Loved by many_

_Rest In Peace_

_June 13, 1971- February 9, 2011_

It was inadequate. The headstone. It said nothing about Booth. Brennan made a mental note to write her own epitaph.

"Booth," Brennan said, feeling moronic. Booth had always said to just talk freely, don't force it.

"It's cold outside." Brennan shook her head at her own idiocies. "I cannot believe that you aren't here anymore, Booth. And I'm sorry I wasn't right. But at least you went out loving and being loved. Even if it wasn't me. Maybe I'll go out like that too someday. Loved." Brennan shifted uncomfortably in the brisk February weather.  
>"I miss you. And I love you. As a friend, but also as a partner… romantic partner, not work partner. You know. Like that. And damn you for making it so hard to move on- actually no. Wait. Please don't be damned!" Brennan struggled to talk, especially to someone who wasn't there. "Go to heaven. With over-sexualized nude infants with anatomically incorrect appendages that belong only to avian creatures and unrealistically supportive clouds. Go. Be happy there. No obligations. No pain. I wish you the best."<p>

Temperance Brennan stood. She was done now, done comprehending. She understood. She could move on to more important things. Things like catching murderers. She wanted to call it justice, but it was pure revenge. She was going to get back to work at doing what she did best.

She drove back to her apartment and heated up some leftovers. She ate quickly, jumped in the shower, stretched out her sore muscles, and sat on her bed, feeling empowered. Pulling out her phone, she called the one person she knew could help.

"Hey, Dad? Yes… it was awful. Thank you. Listen: I need some advice on… finding someone…"


	10. Excluded

**Author's Note: Okay so this chapter isn't random. No randomness. Everything happens for a reason. Right now I bet you're like, "Ummm... okay?" But all will become clear. _I did it on purpose._ So no angry reviews, k? Good. Anyway, I love this chapter, it introduces some characters we've forgotten about, and also there's a small bit of resolution, but not in the way you're thinking (which means, no, Booth doesn't come back, and no, Hannah doesn't leave). So enjoy, and thanks again to my beta Steph for all her help, as well as my right and left wing reviewers, CandiGirl510 and Alex (alexindigo). You guys pick which wing you want to be :) Thanks for reading and before you do, a disclaimer: All _Bones_ is property of Hart Hanson and FOX. **

_Outside Looking In_ by Jordan Pruitt

_You don't know how it feels  
><em>_To be outside the crowd  
><em>_You don't know what it's like  
><em>_To be left out  
><em>_And you don't know how it feels  
><em>_To be your own best friend on the outside looking in_

_If you could read my mind  
><em>_You might see more of me than meets the eye  
><em>_And you've been all wrong  
><em>_Not who you think I am  
><em>_You've never given me a chance_

Chapter Nine: Excluded

"Flex, relax. Flex. Relax. _Flex_. Relax. _Flex!_ Agent Booth, if you want to get better, you need to flex!" Booth screwed his eyes shut and tightened all his thigh muscles at once. They seized painfully and cramped, and the therapist hummed triumphantly. Booth opened his eyes and looked at her. Then he looked at his swollen leg, and then opened his mouth.

"Fuck."

"Eloquent, Agent. You could run for office with that message," Seb smirked from the corner, looking up from his _Sports Illustrated_. Booth ignored him, choosing instead to eye the therapist dubiously.

"So if I do these with seven pound weighs instead of five, I'm doubling my recovery time?" The therapist nodded.

"Yes, but you have to do them _all_, Agent Booth. You have to flex for two seconds with the weight and with your foot at least two feet off the ground. It's brutal, but effective." Booth nodded attentively. _Anything to get out of here._

Booth had been miserable the past week. Hannah had called after the funeral, but she didn't sound good. All she could say was that it had "shaken her up and given her a different perspective." Booth wasn't a squint. Booth wasn't a journalist. Booth most definitely wasn't a psychologist.

Booth did not know what was going on.

Parker had called a few times, speaking in unnecessarily secretive, hushed tones about the operation. Booth had answered all of his son's questions to the best of his ability, and wished more than ever he wasn't alone. Jared had spoken to him briefly, airily, saying everything went fine- there were tears- but everyone made it through.

Hank hadn't called.

And to make matters worse, some anonymous, cocky-ass PI-wannabe-bounty hunter was trying to catch Harley.

The yellow envelopes had started the last week or so after the funeral. All with the word _ossa_ in small script in the corner, and all containing pictures of places Harley had been, and transcripts of interrogations that had been performed. Admittedly, he had been damn helpful, and there were times that Booth wished that this guy would just shoot Harley and get it done. Cliffe, Hacker, Parriera, and the other agents assigned to this case were all giving him a nickname- Adjutor_. _

Parriera had explained that it meant "helper" in Spanish, her mother tongue, and one day it had just slipped out. Booth felt a little left out (he wasn't in on _everything_, what with confined bed rest and all), but these days he had gotten used to just generally feeling out of touch.

The FBI had accepted the envelopes as help, and now had a full case file labelled _Adjutor_. Booth figured that if Adjutor caught Harley, he would make it big with the FBI. But even their best help couldn't catch a snapshot with Harley actually in the frame.

Booth had begun to wonder if he was ever getting out.

o-o-o

She felt his eyes on her. She had called him for the first time in so long, asked for help for the first time from him. Their relationship had had its ups and downs, but she knew she would always be able to depend on him.

It was as she felt his gaze burning hot into the back of her neck that she realized how selfish she had been. She wasn't in pain. No, not compared to the others. They'd known Booth, too. They'd all known Booth, most knew him better than she did. _She'd_ known Booth.

Angela closed her eyes as she realized she hadn't once asked Brennan how she was handling this. To her credit, she hadn't said a word till this moment, not to _her_, not to anyone.

God, she was an awful friend.

It hadn't really hit her. Not until she'd croaked, _"Hodgins,"_ just moments ago and the pain of her dried throat and fallow larynx had nearly overwhelmed her. How everyone had been there for her in the past few weeks, and no one had been there for Bren.

A hand wrapped around her shoulders, and the other presented a glass of water.

"Decided to rejoin the world of the articulate?" Hodgins smiled carefully, warily eyeing Angela with caution.

"Y-ye-yes," Angela stuttered unable to properly communicate after nearly a month of silence. She downed the water and tried again.

"I'm sorry." Hodgins stared at her for a long time. Long seconds, maybe even minutes passed.

"For what?" he asked. The way he said it… he wasn't saying it like, "There's nothing to be sorry about." It was more, "Which part of this mess are you taking the blame for?" Angela composed herself.

"For taking _too_ much… time. Too much time. To grieve," she clarified, "I took so much time, it was like no one else had any," Hodgins watched her.

"I agree," he said, nodding. Angela's eyes widened.

"You… agree?" This was not expected. That being said, Hodgins always did go for the unexpected.

"Yes," Hodgins replied, strongly, but with no edge. "You left me to be there for _everyone_, and left everyone to be there for _you_. You were extra maintenance in a time when we all needed an extra hand. You acted like more of a child than Brennan did. And she's usually the immature one." Angela was… shocked. Was Hodgins being _cruel?_

"Are… are you mad at me?"

"Frankly? Yeah. But I'll get over it. Everyone's allowed a little free time, I guess," Hodgins said honestly. "I'm sorry 'bout that- unloading all of that on you when you're making an effort. It's just been... lonely around here." Angela felt a rush of compassion for her husband in that one moment.

Maybe it was just the pregnancy hormones- somehow, Angela didn't think so.

She leaned over, placed a chaste kiss on his lips. When she opened her eyes, his were still closed. Her hand reached out to cup his cheek.

"What is it?" He opened his eyes, regarding her, his face unreadable.

"I just thought… I thought I might've lost you. Somewhere in your head. But you're back, Angie. You're really back here." Angela smiled mischievously and dissipated the tension with a devilish smile.

"You bet I am."

And she dove in for a second, more passionate kiss.

o-o-o

It had been a good few hours. A distraction from reality. When she rolled to face him, clutching the sheets to her body, she knew what he was going to say.

"We're back, baby," he grinned at her. "So what do we do now?"

Angela sighed.  
>"I have to go over there," Angela stated. "She must be a mess…"<p>

"Who?" Hodgins quirked an eyebrow.

Angela stared at him. "Er… _Bren_?"

Hodgins rolled his eyes.

"Dr. B? She's fine," he said. "She even came by to visit you a couple times. You don't remember?"

"She came by to visit _me?_ Damn, this is all wrong!" Angela sat up, her hands clutching the sheet under her chin.

"It's like… it's like some sort of twisted doppelganger where she's all capable and I'm the damsel in distress and she's all Prince Charming…" she trailed off, flustered.

"Wait… so normally Brennan is the damsel and _you're_ Prince Charming? Is there something I should know about you two too?" Hodgins eyes twinkled. He felt about a thousand times better with Angela. She sent him a look.

"Fine, _fine_. We'll swing by her place now. Grab your stuff."

They jumped into the Fiat and took New Hampshire towards Brennan's place.

"Should we call?" Angela asked, unsure of her place. She felt… out of routine.

"It's only 5:30. Cam's banned us from work, so she'll be writing or reading some anthropology journal. You know her." Hodgins pulled into a spot in the parking lot. Angela smiled, glad to be back.

"Yeah… yeah I do."

They made their way to the apartments. Howard the doorman tipped his hat at Hodgins in a familiar manner that made Angela wonder how many times her husband had been here, and more importantly, how much Hodgins had had to handle. When Howie saw Angela, his eyes widened in surprise.

"Miss! Been a long time, eh?" Angela flushed at this, and Howie let them through, oblivious to her discomfort. Standing outside of Brennan's door, Angela took a deep breath and knocked, Hodgins standing reassuringly by her side.

The door opened, and the apartments habitant stood, wearing large glasses as opposed to the routine contact lenses, sweats instead of a blue lab coat, and hair ruffled contrary to its usual neatness.

The Hodgins' jaws dropped open in twin astonishment.

"_Wendell?"_


	11. Pestilence

**Author's Note: Happy TDitD day, everyone! I had a lot of fun writing this chapter. Parts of it may be a little OOC, but the characters are OOC for reasons that you will comprehend as you read. We see Brennan and what she's up to in this chapter, and Wendell is explained. I like the way this chapter is divided up- I tried to interject a little fun into this angsty mess :). Thanks as always to my fab beta Steph, and Alex and Candi, my right and left wings, respectively. Disclaimer: I do not own _Bones_ or its characters, that all goes to HH and FOX. See you next Wednesday!**

_Ride the Wings of Pestilence_ by From First to Last

_Hiding behind the shadows  
><em>_I'll be waiting in the dark  
><em>_to drive this blade straight through your heart  
><em>_I'll drag your body to the car  
><em>_as blood races down my arm  
><em>_I think everyone will wonder where you are (tonight)_

_I'll hide you in my walls  
><em>_your body will never be found  
><em>_I'll wear your skin as a suit  
><em>_Pretend to be you, your friends will like you more than they used to_

_I've been dreaming about you  
><em>_in a pool of your own blood  
><em>_with your eyes gouged out  
><em>_by the work of my thumbs  
><em>_the scent of your insides  
><em>_from under the floorboards  
><em>_the perfect perfume  
><em>_for settling a score._

Chapter Ten: Pestilence

"Whatever this is, this is _not_ safe. You said this would be safe. You said I could return home to my family in a week and it would be _safe_," he complained, eyeing her suspiciously.

"I said none of those things," Brennan clarified, defending her position, "You just didn't think I meant _this_." She smirked at her father, eyes returning to the road.

"Hey! I'm your family!" Brennan protested as his words hit her.

Max shrugged looking down, almost bashfully. Brennan nodded knowingly.

"It's a girl, isn't it, Dad?"  
>"A <em>woman<em>," Max corrected firmly. Brennan rolled her eyes.  
>"Yeah, yeah…" Max studied Brennan carefully. In the last six months, a lot had changed in his daughter. Brennan felt him watching her and wondered why everyone was doing that recently.<p>

"What's with you, Tempe? You're acting all… _normal_." Brennan tilted her head away from him. Max was always very frank- she knew she was the epitome of abnormal before Maluku. She knew she had changed. But all everyone had said was that her transformation was strange. _Was it bad? Did they want abnormal? I can give them abnormal._

"Normal? Normal is defined as conforming to a standard. Usual. Expected. I am none of these things. Unless, of course you mean one of the countless other denotations of the word: my habitual choices, my growth and development, my sexual activity-"

"Whoa, _whoa!_" Max cut her off, eyes wide. "That's good, honey. You can stop there. In fact," Max fixed her with a level stare that told her he knew _exactly_ what she was doing, "stop all this nonsense. I love you no matter how you change."

Brennan sighed and directed her attention to the road.

"So we're meeting _who_ exactly?"

"He's bad… from the past," Max said quietly, as though someone else was in the car with them, "He won't recognize me now, I'm sure, but he'll definitely know who you are…" Brennan looked at him, alarmed.

"How will he know me? Have you been in contact, Max?" she said distrustfully.

"Honey, your face is everywhere! You've got to wear this one again," Max said holding up the platinum blonde wig. Brennan hissed with distaste.

"Why can't we do the black one again? The one with the heavy makeup… what did we name me?" Max laughed.  
>"… Andromeda? My sources are already beginning to connect her with Bo- with <em>his<em> case. We have to change it up. I've heard the FBI's on the lookout for her." Brennan gasped.

"Why didn't you tell me this?" Brennan exclaimed, worried. Max smiled.

"Because the FBI's looking for a tall, dark, strong PI man… not a blonde, Barbie-doll Southern lass." Brennan groaned.

"_Dad_… I'm absolutely hopeless with southern accents. And I couldn't be a Barbie if I tried- the corporeal proportions are impossible. I'm liking this less and less…"

"Here," Max cut her off, pointing to a path that led into the forest. "This is fine. Park on the shoulder." He got out of the car, starting a routine that had become familiar over the past couple of weeks. After about five minutes, Brennan opened the car door in an outfit that could only be described as… very pink. She sat on the hood to buckle the heels and held up a hand to signal Max to wait so she could reapply her lip-gloss.

"Getting into character, huh Tempe?" Max winked.

"Who's Tempe?"

o-o-o

"_Wendell_?"

Hodgins covered his eyes with the palm of his hand and groaned.

"_Wendell…_ First Angie, now Temperance, who's next? Cam?" Wendell shook his head at Hodgins, extremely confused.

"Umm…"

"What the _hell_ do you think you're doing! You fucking _idiot_! How dare you take advantage-"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold up. Taking advantage? I'm just keeping the place for Dr. Brennan while she goes on vacation with her father! Money's tight and she offered me her place for a month so I don't have to pay rent," Wendell explained. "Hey!" he said to Angela in surprise. "You're talking!"

o-o-o

She slinked into the musty room behind her father, her heels clicking and clacking like the second hand on a clock. The man looked up from his computer.

"Holtz," Max confirmed. Holtz looked up.

"You Ryder?" Max nodded.

"Yeah. You got the info?" Holtz raised an eyebrow, trying to see if Max was genuine. "Hm. Yeah. Sure. Whatcha got for me?" he sneered imperiously. Max stared and Holt impassively.

"Keenan sent me," he stated. Holtz started.  
>"<em>Keenan?<em>" Max smirked. He was secretly glad he was still able to instil such fear in such powerful men.

"Yeah. I've got 'im on my speed dial, son. Give me the info," Holtz didn't budge. Brennan took this as her cue.

"Look, Josh," she addressed her father's alias, "he doesn't believe us." She moved lithely towards Holtz.

"Darlin'- tell him," she drawled, pulling out her too-large gun, "that if he doesn't get us contact with Harley, I'll get Keenan to blow his fucking brains out." She smiled angelically at Holtz as she dragged the frigid, metallic barrel of the gun down his cheek. He was as still as ice. She laughed domineeringly and flicked off the safety. Holtz noticeably gulped, his Adam's apple bobbing furiously on his throat. Bringing her mouth to her **his** ear, she whispered throatily, "Too bad he didn't give me the okay."

She set the safety back on and sat across the table from Holtz, next to Max, who nodded at her in approval.

"So. What do you have for us, Holtz?"

"I can get you his phone number, maybe a hotel. I've spoken to him before, got him two guns and some ammo, but I haven't heard from him in a good three weeks. Sold him the gun that did that Diner in, good an' proper." Brennan sucked in a breath, stiffening. _Stay in character, stay in character, stay in character…_

"Saw that on the news," Brennan commented casually. "Nothin' too special, just got one guy and spooked the city- what'd you sell 'im?"

".22 Magnum," Holtz leered. Max whistled.

"Impressive…" Holtz nodded confidently.

"So how 'bout that number, eh?"

As Holtz rattled off the digits, Brennan felt a surge of hope that one day she'd redeem Booth.

The thought excited her more than the bones of a Mongol emperor, and the realization of just how much she cared was terrifying and exhilarating at the same time.

o-o-o

"You guys can… come in if you want…"

Hodgins' head (now separated from his hand) shook, overwhelmed.

"Wait… do you sleep in her _bed_?" Angela screeched, completely freaked out by the situation.

"How do you even speak at such a high pitch after having not communicated for over thirty days?"

"Why couldn't she hire a housekeeper?"

"Where did she go? _Why_ did she go? Vacation? _Max?_"

"She just said-"

"Can't you see? She's taken advantage of her mourning leave to go off on some twisted revenge mission to avenge Booth's killing and has taken Max with her for aid in her crazed quest to kill Harley!"

It suddenly got very quiet as the other two squints contemplated Hodgins' outburst.

"Um… conspiracy theory much?"

"Come on, Jack, even you know that's a little far-fetched…"

Jack assented, realizing the error of his hypothesis.

"Sorry guys, you know how I jump to conclusions sometimes…" he apologized.

"Do you," began Wendell hesitantly, "want to come in and have a cup of coffee? She left me a number… we can call her if it makes you feel better." Angela shrugged.

"It's okay. Brennan probably wants some time away to relax. I wouldn't want to intrude. We can just…. text her or something."

o-o-o

Miles away, as Brennan and Max drove away from Holtz's, triumphant, the tone indicated Brennan had a new message.

_Hope your vacation is going well- Ange, Jack, and Wendell_

Brennan smiled darkly.

"You bet it's going well."

o-o-o


	12. Done

**Author's Note: Hi Guys, sorry for missing a week! I'm in London right now, and I had to fly here due to a family emergency. It's been a tough week but everything's gone as well as can be expected and I'll be back in the US of A this weekend. Thanks for putting up with the wait, this is twice I've been late, so sorry! 'll be punctual next week when I'm back in the swing of things :) This chapter is beginning the even steeper climb to the climax. We're almost there, guys! Thanks as always to Steph, my lovely beta for her edits and support. Thanks to Alex and Candi for their feedback and to all of you for favoriting, reading, reviewing, and alerting. Disclaimer: I do not own any _Bones-_ all that goes to Hart Hanson and FOX.**

_Hero_ by Mariah Carey

_It's a long road  
><em>_And you face the world alone  
><em>_No one reaches out a hand  
><em>_For you to hold_

_You can find love_

_If you search within yourself  
><em>_And the emptiness you felt  
><em>_Will disappear_

_And then a hero comes along  
><em>_With the strength to carry on  
><em>_And you cast your fears aside  
><em>_And you know you can survive_

_So when you feel like hope is gone  
><em>_Look inside you and be strong  
><em>_And you finally see the truth  
><em>_That a hero lies in you_

Chapter Eleven: Done

"We're done, Honey Bun. This is it," Max sighed, gazing worriedly at his daughter's dejected form. "You did good."

Brennan sighed, lifted a bruised knuckle to brush her growing bangs out of her face, the crown of her hair moistened from sweat after having worn a red wig for the majority of the day. She silently reached over Max to the glove compartment and pulled out a pouch.

"Well. I did _well_. I suppose the FBI will take care of the rest." She swiped the makeup wipe across her face, removing the ivory foundation and painted on freckles wearily. She wondered if she would ever wear makeup again.

"I hope not," Max said as Brennan realized she had spoken aloud. "You're lovely the way you are." She smiled delicately, in a shockingly non-Brennan manner, and turned the key in the ignition. She slipped on gloves so no one would ask questions and parked in front of a 24-hour convenience store near her apartment to buy an ice pack and some water bottles. It felt strange, being back in D.C. She slid back into the driver's seat.

"Would you like some water?" She turned, hearing no response.

The seat was empty.

Brennan sighed. _It's not like I expected him to stay._ She wondered where he had gone. Taken a cab all the way back to North Carolina? Staying in a hotel for the night? Brennan could never be completely sure.

o-o-o

She pulled in to the familiar parking lot, not really aware of her surroundings.

"Mister Howard," she acknowledged, but ignored whatever the doorman had opened his mouth to say in a typical Brennan fashion. _Back to routine. No more of this moronic sentimental stuff._

She pulled the key out of her jacket's inside pocket and strode up to her door with purpose, her gloved hands warm and her bag-laden shoulder fatigued.

She opened the door with ease, her hands dexterous, even under gloves, from all her years working with careful precision. She walked in and heard muffled laughter to her right. _Those American University students must not have turned a new leaf in my absence, she though_, nearly smiling. She dropped her bag off in the hall and turned right toward the kitchen.

Wendell, Angela, Hodgins, Cam, Paul, Michelle, Mr. Vaziri, Mr. Nigel-Murray, Miss Wick, even _Dr. Sweets_ were all clumsily seated somehow in her kitchen and adjoining lounge. Her couch pillows had been removed to seat more people and Angela and Cam were running around with plates and little white take-away containers.

Brennan rubbed her eyes in confusion. Surely she wasn't hallucinating? No, no, she wasn't _that_ tired. She caught a glimpse of Mr. Edison- that sealed the deal (a phrase that Hodgins had screamed once when his sporangiospores had solved the case-followed of course by "King of the Lab!")- she was seeing things. She cleared her throat. No pause in the movement, no flicker in the smiles. She had gone insane.

She tried again, much louder, and more authoritative.

"_Excuse me!_"

And everything stopped.

Every face froze.

Every mouth closed.

Under the scrutinizing watch of all of her flat's occupants, she carefully pinched her arm once.

Twice.

Three times.

"Ouch."

o-o-o

He couldn't believe it. After three, four, five weeks the end was _finally _in sight. Booth stretched his neck to look at the ceiling, drawing his hands behind his back, crisscrossing his fingers and simultaneously cracking his knuckles, neck, and back in a way that couldn't possibly be healthy. He stood in the conference room, watching the small droplet on the end of the water cooler's nozzle slowly engorge itself, filling itself to its utmost capacity even though it was only preparing itself for ultimate destruction.

Hacker stood across from him and several other agents, writing with magic marker on a comically oversized post-it note. It was almost twenty times bigger than the deputy director's head, and that was saying something.

While he had previously been mildly annoyed by Adjutor's persistence, Booth couldn't help but be eternally grateful for the information he had provided. Harley's cell was listed, and hadn't been blocked from any signal- a gaping hole in the serial killer's plan. Cliffe had ascertained that whoever got the number was most definitely on the inside; Booth wasn't sure whether to be relieved or sceptical. Either Adjutor was a double agent, or he was leading the FBI into a well-played trap.

Booth's mind was working faster than it ever had.

The tension inside of him felt like the ever-growing bead of water his eyes had been fixated upon. Just as the thought occurred to him, the teardrop detached itself from the nozzle and gracefully fell to its untimely demise, splashing silently onto the white plastic of the cooler. The droplet split into several miniscule rivulets, each taking a different path down the cooler's exterior.

"What do you think, Booth?"

Booth blinked furiously and quickly scanned the bright orange lined note on the wall.

"It all looks fine," he said quickly, "but if we only start tracking the number closer to capture date, then how can we assure that Harley won't cancel it?"

"But if we start tracking now, he might suspect…" supplied another agent as the litany of answers moved on and Booth was free to watch another drop begin to form for the next ten minutes, having contributed to the discussion.

Twenty minutes passed. The drop swelled and broke eleven times.

Booth absorbed the information subconsciously.

_This weekend_

_Three missions_

_Co-leader with Burns_

_His launch- 22:30_

_Commanding 10 Men_

_Target: Exterminate._

He mindlessly watched his colleagues take notes, pens in hand, while his hands remained fruitlessly empty. He sat and stared at the dripping cooler.

Two more days.

Two more days, and he was _free._


	13. Resolution

**Author's Note: Hi guys, it's Wednesday! I just wanted to acknowledge I've broken 50 reviews, which may not seem like much, but to me it means that people care enough to critique me _50 times_. It's ace, thanks. And yeah, I got to 50 so long ago, but I only really remembered to thank you all now. Yeah, I'm not forgetful or anything... :) Anyway, this is the first part of a two-part chapter- which will be really intense. I don't have much to say to preface this chapter, so I'll just let you all read. Thanks to Alex, Candi, and my beta Steph :) And before we continue, a disclaimer: _Bones_ is property of Hart Hanson and FOX.**

_I'm So Tired_ by The Beatles

_I'm so tired, I haven't slept a wink  
><em>_I'm so tired, my mind is on the blink  
><em>_I wonder should I get up and fix myself a drink  
><em>_No,no,no._

_I'm so tired I don't know what to do  
><em>_I'm so tired my mind is set on you  
><em>_I wonder should I call you but I know what you would do_

_You'd say I'm putting you on  
><em>_But it's no joke, it's doing me harm  
><em>_You know I can't sleep, I can't stop my brain  
><em>_You know it's three weeks, I'm going insane  
><em>_You know I'd give you everything I've got  
><em>_for a little peace of mind_

Chapter Twelve, Part One: Resolution

The material felt uncomfortable on his skin; thin, lightweight cotton, a barrier between the cool, unrelenting texture of the bulletproof vest. The fatigues he wore were all too familiar, reminiscent of his daily garb while in Afghanistan. He shifted, feeling the frigid metal of the weapon in his hands. The rest of the squad was gloved, but he was exempt. He needed to feel every curve, every nook of the rifle to make his aim precise. The feeling was overwhelming, holding the sniper rifle in his bare hands. Just the feel of the gun focused him, his brow furrowing in silent concentration. The feeling was exhilarating- power with a tinge of horror. He controlled life and death with this weapon. He wondered if this was how Harley felt.

Booth rolled his shoulders and tilted his head right and left, cracking his neck and easing the muscles, sore after a month of bed rest. He was already in the zone, and he was only in the military van. He glanced over at Hacker and opened his mouth to ask-

"We're forty miles away, Booth," Hacker sighed, having answered Booth's one question so many times he could anticipate it. "Give it another hour. We've got to go in slow."

Booth wilted, nodded and returned to his statuesque composure for the fifth time in an hour.

o-o-o

She rubbed her knuckles, sore already from the pinching motion (her poor metacarpophalangeal joint was aching in protest). She tightened the ice around her hand defensively, aware of the constant gaze of the occupants of the apartment. She slowly walked towards her kitchen, keeping an eye on everyone in the lounge, simultaneously disturbed and glad for the adjoining rooms' visibility. Not turning her back on her frozen audience for one second, she slowly poured some water into her electric kettle, set it to boil, and opened a cabinet to get a mug. The noise of the cabinet opening was loud in the room.

No one flinched.

Brennan was eerily reminded of the wax figures in a museum she'd had a book signing at once. She poured the boiling water over a tea bag and dropped an ice cube into the mug so she wouldn't have to wait. She needed to calm herself down. She weaved her way between Paul and Daisy, who both sucked in a breath as she passed. Finding an empty space of couch, she replaced a pillow (she hated when they weren't on the couch- taking them off made them almost impossible to replace properly), picked up her latest Anthropology Journal, grabbed a throw off the back of the couch and snuggled up to turn to the Table of Contents. _Hey,_ she thought as she read, deciding that her friends were either mute or a figment of her imagination,_ I wrote that a long while ago__._

She waited for someone to talk- to say something- anything, but not a single voice spoke. She skimmed her article and moved on to one by a so-called "forensic podiatrist" she vaguely remembered. She scoffed at the dissertation that took up five pages and ran her hand through her hair. _I wonder when they'll leave…_

o-o-o

The building looked quite homey for the lair of a homicidal maniac. Booth concluded that either Adjutor was a false lead or Harley was a very strange criminal. The two weren't mutually exclusive. From the brush on his squad's outlook, he could even make out a vegetable garden. _Weird…_

Booth shoved the bud further into his ear, as if he'd missed his signal. _What was the delay?_

And then- gunshots.

Five of them. Booth listened with horror. This was a popping noise, not the crack of the FBI rifles or pistols. This was a totally different kind of handgun. And if he was correct, it was the same gun used at the Diner.

_Shit__._

"Burns; Burns, _Burns can you hear me?_" Booth hissed into the microphone frantically. There was no response but rustling. He waited with baited breath, the rest of his squad completely terrified.

"Abort!" Burns whispered, his voice loud in Booth's ear, the microphone transmitting a lot of static. Booth sighed in relief, and then strengthened his resolve.

"Hell no. We're finishing this. I'm finishing this." He set up the stand, positioning the rifle.

"Where is he?"

"Two o'clock from me would be the best shot," Burns rasped from his hiding position. "So… Four o'clock for you."

"Four o'clock," Booth repeated. "You're sure?"

"Positive."

That was all Booth needed- he unlocked the safety and squinted through the viewfinder.

"Three… two…" he whispered into the microphone. _This was it__._ Booth screwed his eyes shut for a single second and opened them with a fierce determination.

"One."

o-o-o

It had been a good two minutes of peace. Brennan sighed and got up to face the group. Then she walked up to Angela.

"What's your name?" she said. Angela looked baffled.

"Sweetie, my name is…" Brennan had heard enough. She huffed in relief, the gust of air gently blowing her bangs up and out of her face.

"Good. You're talking. About time," she said curtly and severely.

Then she nodded at the rest of them, raised an eyebrow at Sweets' expression, and headed to her room, magazine and tea in hand, locking the door behind her.

o-o-o

It was over.

He could hardly believe it. It wasn't a perfect shot, but it was damned good- straight in on the occipital lobe. A month of tracking, therapy, and tribunals, a month without friends, family, and forensics- Booth was glad it was over. He stood behind the rifle, blinking furiously to erase the centering lines of the viewfinder imprinted in his vision. Someone clapped him on the back, and Booth turned to see Burns smile tightly at him and dip his head in respect.

"Thanks for keeping me going, Agent," the younger man commended. "I was about to… you know." He ducked his head in shame. Booth felt a streak of sympathy for Burns.

"Hey, I know how you feel… sometimes it just gets to be too much and you can't handle it," Booth confessed. "God knows how many times I've wanted to quit."

"Well you've got your squints to get back to, now don't you?"

Booth closed his eyes and inhaled.

"Yes, yes I do… after I fill out paperwork."

Burns grinned cheekily.

"The FBI isn't all the glitz and glam, is it Agent?" Booth laughed.

"No," he admitted. "But it's good work we do here, Burns. We do good."

"Yeah," Burns echoed pensively, "Yeah, we do good."


	14. Reversal

**Author's Note: Hi everyone, fast update! So this is part two of Chapter Twelve. It happens. That big thing? It happens. We'll get about a hundred perspectives of this moment in later chapters. But this is it, and it happens _right now._ Holy crap. You know how there's show and tell? Well this is the show. Next chapter will be the tell; so don't freak out on me yet. :) I like this chapter a lot- hopefully it will answer some questions and will live up to the expectations. If you have any questions or comments, review or PM me. Okey dokes- so thanks so much to Steph (my beta) and also Alex and Candi. Disclaimer: I do not own any _Bones_ besides the ones in my body (all rights go to Hart Hanson and FOX).**

_(Is This) Heaven _by Euphoria

_Is this Heaven?  
><em>_Oh is this Heaven?  
><em>_  
>Is this Heaven?<br>__Oh is this Heaven?  
><em>_Is this Heaven?  
><em>_Then set us free_

_Is this Heaven?  
><em>_Then let us free  
><em>_I said, "Won't you let me be?"  
><em>_I said, "Won't you let me be?"_

_Oh is this Heaven?  
><em>_Set me free  
><em>_Set me free_

Chapter Twelve, Part Two: Reversal

The sun streamed through the sheer beige of the fine linen curtains. She lay half-awake, half-asleep; her body had woken her up at the break of dawn, but her mind needed the rest. _I'll get up at 9:30_, she figured, squinting lazily at the clock and setting her phone alarm on autopilot. She feared if she opened her eyes fully she might awaken, and once she was up, she wouldn't be able to fall back asleep.

Her eyes closed again, her lips relaxing and her brow smooth. Her mind drifted off to memories of picnics and seminars, of parks and Parker, of friendship and love. It was wonderful and unhurried- a sharp contrast to her life for the past five months. It was dreamy and languid and _it's been ten minutes, why isn't my phone ringing?_

Brennan groaned and lifted herself up, squinting at the display.

9:28.

She might as well get up, and try to call someone; she wasn't quite sure what had happened last night. Stretching her kinks out with a little sigh, she rubbed her eyes wearily and padded into her kitchen. There was a note propped up on the table, saying _Brennan._ Unfolding it, she read:

_You seemed a little bit off last night- sorry for causing a ruckus. We didn't know you'd be back. We hope you had a nice trip!_

_-The "Squints"_

_P.S.: If you need anything, we're at the lab._

Brennan smiled at the note- the action felt foreign to her (most likely due to her neglected zygomaticus major and minor, orbicularis oculi, levator labii superioris, levator anguli oris, and risorius muscles). Then, she frowned as she remembered her abominable behavior last night.

To be fair, she had honestly thought it was a dream, or even a hallucination. She'd even heard Angela's voice- it had all become more and more incomprehensible. She recalledconfusion. _Who was this person who had life in her eyes? What had brought her back?_ Brennan realized how mystifying her question would've appeared and clapped the heel of her hand to her forehead in distaste. She'd ruined the reunion.

She never could get anything right.

o-o-o

He walked out of Rebecca's home gallant and giddy. Seeing Parker after a whole month had been… indescribable. Being able to walk among and talk to whomever he wanted to was a feeling of liberation he hadn't felt in a while.

Booth hadn't called Hannah before he walked into the apartment. She sat innocently at the kitchen table, laptop open in front of her, blonde hair fanning over the keyboard. He'd snuck up on her and pulled her in for a hug. Having someone to go home to was nice. He just couldn't wait to get _there._

Was he considered a workaholic if his workplace was more of a home to him than his flat?

He walked into the Lobby of the large center, walking into the elevator excitedly. Booth's anticipation rose faster than the floors he was climbing.

_Ding!_

The elevator doors opened and Booth walked out into the hallway, turning the corner and walking through the automated doors that opened with their much-missed _swish_.

He stopped to take a moment. Standing there, in the enormous lab, the platform gleaming and metallic, and the surrounding offices buzzing with tests and computer work, Booth wished he'd never left. He breathed in the crisp, clean air, and walked up to the platform.

Again, he paused. His hand held the card in his jacket pocket, his thumb running up and down the smooth edge. And then Angela turned to say something to Hodgins and he saw her face, and he just had to be up there with his squints.

_His _squints.

When the card beeped, it seemed to echo off every surface in the lab. Cam, Angela, and Hodgins snapped their heads to face him, their eyes completely blank with shock. Daisy and Sweets looked up from the corner of the platform they'd been flirting in, under the pretense of work.

Angela's pencil snapped under the force she as exerting.

Hodgins dropped a Petri dish, and Booth stepped forward to deftly catch it and set it on a table.

He grinned broadly.

"Hey guys!"

"Oh, shit." The voice was unexpected. Booth turned toward the speaker.

"Oh shit, shit, _shit_. This is not happening. Why are you alive? Why are you _not dead?_" Sweets groaned in horror, "And I told her… what did you- how was this- _why didn't they tell me_?" Booth sighed.

"I'm really sorry man, but you know how they are, top-secret and what not." Daisy's eyes were as wide as saucers. She kept shaking her head like a bobble-doll in a car on a bumpy road.

"What the fuck," Hodgins said, monotonously. "Like, just, what the _fuck_, man. You promised her you wouldn't- you can't just _not remember_… do you know what happened? It's been a month." Hodgins' hand reached out shakily to touch Booth. Booth held out his arm.

"See? I'm real," he said consolingly. Hodgins recoiled and then his fist sprung forward. Booth's head snapped to the side with the force of the blow.

"Just checking," said Hodgins. "Good to know you're tangible. I'll pass the news on to Zach. He's a murderer, in case you forgot something else."

o-o-o

She needed to fix this. Apologize to her friends; make the reunion worthwhile. She **it **owed to herself to make sure they were all not figments of her very worn psyche.

She shakily made her way to the car, to the familiar parking lot with the familiar space and familiar elevator and familiar swishing doors. She stepped on to the platform, relieved to see the familiar faces of her team- Angela, Hodgins, Booth, Cam, Sweets, and the intern of the week all discussing something heatedly.

_Wait._

Everyone turned to look at her, and she figured she'd spoken aloud. It hardly mattered anyway- they were all clearly just hallucinations; she really was alone in this world. Why else would Booth be there? They stared at her cautiously. What was this? What was happening? Her mind was bewildered beyond belief. She sorted the facts.

She was in the Jeffersonian with her friends, and _Booth._ There was a fresh body on the table, and the case looked challenging by what she could tell. The workplace outside of the platform was buzzing with energy. She liked this.

"Is this heaven?"

o-o-o


	15. Leadership

**Author's Note: Hello! Short, short, short chapter today! Don't worry, it's a two part chapter again! This should be up by the weekend, but it might take a little longer, because I'm quite busy (it'll definitely be up before Wednesday though). Thanks to my beta Steph for her edits and musical sense :) Also, Candi and Alex, as well as all my other reviewers (besides that really annoying anon you all know about). New Modern Family today wheyy! Haha sorry I'm really energetic at the moment :) Hope you enjoy, and thanks for all the reviews, alerts, and favorites! Disclaimer: I own none of _Bones_, all goes to HH and FOX.**

_Pieces of a Dream _by Anastacia

_I thought I saw you late last night, but it was just a flash of light._  
><em>An angel passing.<em>  
><em>But I remember yesterday.<em>  
><em>Life before you went away.<em>  
><em>And we were laughing.<em>  
><em>We had hope and now it's broken.<em>

_And I could see it clearly once when you were here with me._  
><em>And now somehow all that's left are pieces of a dream.<em>

_Now I'm lost in restless nights._  
><em>Just a whisper of the life that we created.<em>  
><em>Shadows falling.<em>  
><em>I am calling.<em>

_And I could see it clearly once when you were here with me._  
><em>And now somehow all that's left are pieces of a...<em>

_The faded photographs._  
><em>The frames of broken glass.<em>  
><em>The shattered memories.<em>  
><em>Time will soon erase.<em>  
><em>All these souvenirs.<em>  
><em>Salt from a thousand tears.<em>  
><em>But when I wake up you are never there.<em>

Chapter Thirteen, Part One: Leadership

"Is this heaven?"

Brennan's battered brain reeled. She blinked slowly, savoring the darkness each flutter of her eyelids brought. She was just so _tired_.

Staring at him wonderingly, she half-staggered towards him.

_Booth._

Her lips parted in silent shock.

He was half-facing her, frozen, looking so absolutely terrified that a part of her mind wanted to react to danger. Behind him, her friends and colleagues stood, in varying shades of confusion, anger, fear, distress, surprise…

She wondered why they all weren't as happy as she was now.

_Booth. _

She stood in front of him now, eyes wide and bemused. His face was as she remembered, save for a bandage on his mandible and a small line of stitches on his frontal bone. She squinted at him, trying to deduce his expression.

He looked horrified.

She bit her lip, raising a bruised hand in front of his face slowly. Anger welled up inside of her. _How could…_

She tenderly traced the black thread woven into his worn skin, feeling the contrast of the rough surgical string and the soft, yielding feel of his skin, the crests and the valleys that the stitches caused.

_How could someone do this to Booth? _

At the awful thought, Brennan's hand retreated quickly from Booth's face, shaking slightly. Booth looked agonized.

"Bones…"

And all of a sudden, it became real.

_Too real._

Brennan's eyes closed and her knees collapsed from under her.

In heaven, everything was perfect.

This was not heaven after all.

o-o-o

No one seemed to be able to talk. Even after the lab techs had moved Brennan to the office, even after Booth had shakily seated himself on the platform steps, even after Daisy ran out of the lab in a panic.

_No one's going to take a stand here? _Cam thought. _Typical._

And so Dr. Saroyan scrunched her eyes shut to clear her head, and snapped to attention, asserting her authority in the only way she knew how.

"Back to work, everyone! We have a body to identify and a case to solve! Chop, chop!"

Sweets turned to look at her, his expression saying, "Seriously?"

Hodgins put his head in one hand and used the other to snap the ever-present rubber band on his wrist.

Angela took the deep yoga breaths she had learned in her prenatal classes and steadfastly ignored Booth, turning to the body with her pad, trying to pretend it was all a dream.

Cam knew she had to deal with this. Clearly, no one else wanted to listen to her or step up to take the lead.

She walked towards him warily.

Cam had known Booth since high school. She knew him better than anyone else.

In theory.

Cam knew about Jared, and Joseph, and Hank. About his jock status, high school girlfriends, and weakness in Calculus. She knew about Rebecca and Parker and the gambling.

But she knew barely anything else.

She didn't know his favorite ice cream flavor, or why he always wasted his fries when they went to get lunch. She didn't know why he liked pie, or why he really came back from Afghanistan.

And so she hardly felt cut out for the job in front of her.

And to be honest? She really didn't want to deal with this right now.

She had to come to terms with this all first.

"Booth?"

No response. She figured it would've been like this. Her voice softened, feeling pity for him (albeit not much).

"Seeley," she said seriously. "I know you wanted this to be a big, exciting reunion. I'm sure you have a fucking amazing explanation, and that everything's dandy now. I hope you achieved whatever you set out to do here. And I really, really hope it was worth it. We're not quite ready for this yet, okay?"

Booth looked up at her pitifully, his eyes red, and a tear building up on the outside corner of his right eye. He nodded slowly.  
>"Great," said Cam. "Now get out."<p>

o-o-o


	16. Rebuild

**Author's Note: Holy fuck guys, it's an update. I am well aware how late this is, and how annoyed you all are. Well... I have an excuse. I got a job. It's crazy. If anyone is in the field of psychology or interested in pursuing psychology, be it clinical, criminal, forensic, therapeutic, I'd love to talk (unless your Alex, in which case, we already do talk :D). I'm majoring in psych with a minor in criminal justice, and I'm working during the day and studying by night. It's wild. In other news, I've reached 100 reviews (yay!) and I've developed the nicest group of reviewers whom I week by week fail to acknowledge. Thanks to SuperBie, berniej, SuperK4141, and kkitten88, as well as my two lovelies, Alex and Candi, and my awesome beta Steph (who was ill earlier, and has a sick kitty, send her love). Thanks for reading and reviewing and putting up with me :) Have a nice read! Disclaimer: I do not own any _Bones_- all rights reserved to Hart Hanson and FOX.**

_Used To _by Daughtry

_I used to reach for you when  
><em>_I got lost along the way.  
><em>_I used to listen.  
><em>_You always had just the right thing to say.  
><em>_I used to follow you.  
><em>_Never really cared where we would go,  
><em>_Fast or slow, to anywhere at all._

_We used to have this figured out;  
><em>_We used to breathe without a doubt.  
><em>_When nights were clear, you were the first star that I'd see.  
><em>_We used to have this under control.  
><em>_We never thought.  
><em>_We used to know.  
><em>_At least there's you, and at least there's me.  
><em>_Can we get this back?  
><em>_Can we get this back to how it used to be?_

_I look around me,  
><em>_And I want you to be there  
><em>_'Cause I miss the things that we shared.  
><em>_Look around you.  
><em>_It's empty, and you're sad  
><em>_'Cause you miss the love that we had._

_You used to talk to me like  
><em>_I was the only one around,  
><em>_The only one around._

_We used to have this figured out;  
><em>_We used to breathe without a doubt.  
><em>_When nights were clear, you were the first star that I'd see.  
><em>_We used to have this under control.  
><em>_We never thought.  
><em>_We used to know.  
><em>_At least there's you, and at least there's me.  
><em>_Can we get this back?  
><em>_Can we get this back to how it used to be? Yeah.  
><em>_To how it used to be._

Chapter Thirteen, Part Two: Rebuild

In the end, it wasn't like a soap opera.

Well, maybe it was just _that_ much like a soap opera.

It had taken her a while to gather the courage to return to the lab. Seeing Doctor Brennan like that… it had been shocking. The entire scene had been shocking. From her hiding place in the crevice by the elevators, she'd seen Booth walk by. Devastated, she'd scrunched her eyes up tight, the pounding in her ears not fully silencing the loud voices of Hodgins, Angela, Cam, and Sweets.

When she'd walked back in, Daisy had wondered if she'd dreamt it all - if she was really as crazy as half the Jeffersonian thought she was.

Angela and Hodgins had been silent, working over the same cadaver as before. Cam had been working on one of the platform's large screens.

_No,_ She'd thought. _My mind isn't nearly imaginative enough to have made of _that_ bit of drama._

She'd slid her card and entered the platform cautiously.

"Are you okay?" Cam had asked, brow furrowed.

"Yeah. Yeah, _I'm_ okay. I- I just… Booth's alive."

Cam's expression had been unreadable.

"Yes."

"And Doctor Brennan fainted."

"Yes."

"And Hodgins…"

And it had gone on like that until Daisy was even more confused than before, and Cam was sick and tired of playing trivia.

Now, she entered the room full of trepidation. Doctor Brennan's office had been host to a myriad of Daisy's emotions.

Excitement when she got the internship, fear when Doctor Brennan gave Daisy her third warning, joy when she learned she'd solved the case.

Nothing like this, though. Nothing like this… confusion, grief, worry, loss.

Loss for something that wasn't ever hers. Loss for something she'd only seen, watching from the sidelines. Loss of a dream, a hope, an exciting spark of possibility.

It seemed as though the spark had gone out.

"Lancelot." Her voice was uncharacteristically quiet, solemn. The noise felt foreign from her lips. "Oh!" she exclaimed in surprise as she realized that Doctor Brennan was awake, and Lance was talking to her. _Oh crap he's psychoanalyzing her and I'm interrupting, and…_

"Did anyone ever teach you to knock?" Sweets started, frustrated, before looking up at the intruder. His glare softened. "What are you driving at, Miss Daisy? Can't you see I'm in session?"

Daisy ducked her head.

"Sorry, I wasn't on the platform. Cam must have forgotten to tell me." Sweets' face melted into one of compassion.

"Ah, this is all new for you, isn't it?"

"And they say it gets easier the second time around," Brennan sighed wryly, speaking for the first time.

She looked even more tired than she had when she'd first walked in. Daisy thought she'd never think she looked horrible again; poor Doctor Brennan has clearly been through it all.

"Well it's not going to happen again," said Daisy, fiercely. "You know how you feel Doctor Brennan, we both know. Seven months on an island with you, and who wouldn't?"

"Islands," Brennan corrected doggedly. "Maluku Islands."

"You've got to tell him," Daisy insisted heatedly. "Just get it out there! If there's one thing you've taught me, Doctor Brennan, it's that you can't sit and wait for change to happen. This would've-"

"I told him."

"-never have happened- _what?_"

"I told him. God, Daisy, I told him. And he said no."

And for once, Daisy honestly did not know what to say.

o-o-o

He sat in the car, willing his limbs to stop shaking.

Willing his body to control itself so that he could make it home.

He could fix things from there.

_This wasn't productive._

He needed to explain. That's all he could do. Explain, and hope it was good enough for him to stay.

He wasn't wanted in person, that much was clear.

Should he call? What if she picked up? What if she didn't? What would he do then? Leave a message?

He felt like every step of his life now would have to be planned, because change was bad. Change was awful, and it shifted everything. He didn't want this again.

_I had to,_ he told himself. He thought it over, and over, and over, like a silent mantra.

_I had to. I had to. I had to._

It had happened before, except for this time it was so much worse. Three years ago, she'd been angry and defiant. Now… he couldn't even…

_I had to. I had to. I had to._

He really had to, didn't he? It was the same then, and nothing had changed.

"_The bureau has to vet everyone when there is a security issue. I was just following protocol."_

And yet, and still, his mind flashed back three years. Did he? Did he _really?_ Because things weren't the same before as they are now. Before, they were friends; now they'd tried, failed, and tried some more.

_I had to. I had to. I had to…_

It was protocol, damnit! Protocol! But…

"_We've been partners for three years, Booth, and you've broken protocol before – sometimes putting my life in danger. Which makes sense because you clearly don't have any real concern for me."_

"Shit."

His mind flashed back and forth- justification, guilt, justification, guilt, until he was in such a frenzy that there was no way he'd _ever_ stop trembling.

Booth had no idea what to do.

No ideaat all.


	17. Trying

**Author's Note: ...and it's an update! Next chapter will be the ultimate hashing out and this is setting that all up. Not much to say, except for thanks to Steph, my beta, and Alex and Candi, as well as all my other reviewers. Disclaimer: _Bones_ and all its characters are property of HH and FOX.**

_Awkward_ by Craig David

_And it's killing me to see you again  
><em>_And not can't help but wonder,  
><em>_If you really be with him for the long run  
><em>_What have I done?_

_Must have been outta my mind  
><em>_When I let you go  
><em>_Think about you all of the time  
><em>_Gotta let you know (Hmm)  
><em>_Must have been outta my mind  
><em>_When I let you go (Aw Baby)  
><em>_Think about you all of the time  
><em>_Gotta let you know  
><em>_You know_

_Awkward and I, seem to feel like it's all a,  
><em>_Case of déjà-vu, But I prefer to call it karma  
><em>_Cause you're the one who's breaking your heart_

Chapter Fourteen: Trying

He filed all his paperwork and spent a weekend with Hannah and Parker- he wasn't ready to face them, and they didn't want to deal with him. A little space would do them both some good, he supposed. He needed time to think, too.

Honestly, he had initially thought he'd done nothing wrong. Think about it rationally (_my god, she's changed me , hasn't she_). He'd followed orders given to him by his superior, and informed his girlfriend, as well as making sure his family knew. He'd come back when he was supposed to, having done his job, and had let everyone know all was well.

Except for, no matter how much Brennan had ever rubbed off on him, Booth _was_ still Booth. And Booth wasn't always rational. Booth knew that he'd done what he was supposed to; he had followed the rules. _But sometimes you have to break the rules to do what's right._ He should have turned down the case. But he couldn't do that, of course. No one in the agency would have been able to pull that off but him, and no, he wasn't proud. Or he should have found a way to call Brennan. Who cares if the facility didn't allow any outgoing calls? He could have told Hannah to tell Brennan… He should have gone to _her_ first after Parker, considering Hannah knew.

But with these morals came a whole new set of morals. Was it right to see Brennan when he had a girlfriend? Was it right to see Brennan despite Hannah if he knew she was in love with him?

_Screw this,_ Booth protested. He'd sat in the safety of his apartmentwith Hannah and nursed his wounded psyche. It was time to act.

The words carried a hell of a lot more bravado than his actual actions. He pulled out his phone. Unlocking the screen, then chickening out and locking it again. He opened it one more time, and peered at the time.

_1:30 pm_

Knowing Brennan's poor habits, she was most likely still working and not eating. He figured he might as well call her; it would be better than impromptu showing up, that's for sure.

The phone rang three times before the ringing stopped and he heard background noise.

"Booth?"

"_Sweets?"_ Booth quickly checked the caller ID. He had called Bones, not Sweets.

"Are you two having lunch?"

o-o-o

On his end of the line, Sweets looked around at the table filled with nearly half the FBI and the expectant Jeffersonian workers desperately.

"Something like that. She's in the bathroom," Sweets explained.

"You answered her phone while she was in the bathroom? That's awful! And not very trustworthy!"Booth accused. Sweets blushed.

"You're one to talk," he countered, rather insensitively. Booth was silent for a beat.  
>"Could you just… actually… could you leave?" Sweets blinked and pressed the phone closer to his ear. Cam and Arastoo leaned in to hear as well, their ears barely picking up Booth's muffled voice.<p>

"I'm sorry," Sweets tried to clarify, confused. "You want us to _leave?_"

"Not Bones… just you, and whoever else is over there. Hey, I'm on my way, and I need to talk to her… you know I need to talk to her. Come on man, give me a chance; just clear out and let us talk."

Now Sweets thought it was all very romantic and adorable and of course communication is integral, but he was more frightened at the prospect of driving a pregnant Angela out of the Diner.

"Come _on_, Sweets," Booth urged.

"What does he want?" Angela, Hodgins, and Agent Parriera chorused in an eerie fashion. Sweets thought of a way to phrase it that would please the masses.  
>"Hold on," he said, carefully pushing the 'mute microphone' button. "Booth is going to do something hopelessly romantic and adorable and he needs us to leave for that to happen."<p>

Angela watched him carefully, and then warned, "I was out of this for so long; let him know that if he makes it worse then he shouldn't be surprised if he wakes up an amputee victim in the middle of the Antarctic."

Sweets sighed, enabling the microphone.

"They say _good luck_."

o-o-o

He ran into the Diner, not pausing to think about how he felt returning to the place that had started this all. He had just sat down when Emma began delivering masses of food, and Brennan returned from the bathroom. Catching the waitress's eye, he quickly shook his head She seemed to get it. Bones looked much better (though he supposed everyone looked quite a bit better when they were up and conscious) and appeared physically unharmed save for some butterfly bandages on her fingers and some tape on her wrist. He would have to ask her about those later.

She looked mildly surprised to see him.

"I was wondering when this would happen," she smiled tiredly, as though it were an effort. He knew how she felt- his answering smile was just as weary.

"Your friends conspiring against you to let your very best friend say he's so sorry and doesn't know how to make it up to you?"

"If this is supposed to be cute like somethingout of a fictitious film**…**" Brennan started . "It's not," Booth quickly cut in**. "**Letme get some fries." Booth simultaneously wilted at her dismissal and felt a burst of amusement at her characteristically Brennan behavior. Before he could get Emma, she appeared with a plate of fries.

"Okay," Brennan conceded. "I'm here, you're here and there are fries. Here's your chance to explain why this isn't working."


	18. Catharsis

**Author's Note: Lovelies, Bones is on Thursday. I have a shift till _eleven_. Tell me it ain't so. I may or may not cry :'(. On a brighter note, how cute are those two? I mean, yeah, in _my_ world they're horridly dysfunctional and sad and revenge-y, but in FOX, they're having a baby! Yayy! sldfjkalsdfj IM SO EXCITED. Haha, onwards, less spazz, more fic. Thanks as always to Steph, Candi, Alex, and all my reviewers. Disclaimer: I own none of _Bones_. All goes to Hart Hanson and FOX. Cheers! xx**

_Rain _by Patty Griffin

_It's hard to listen to a hard hard heart  
><em>_Beating close to mine  
><em>_Pounding up against the stone and steel  
><em>_Walls that I won't climb  
><em>_Sometimes a hurt is so deep deep deep  
><em>_You think that you're gonna drown  
><em>_Sometimes all I can do is weep weep weep  
><em>_With all this rain falling down_

_Strange how hard it rains now  
><em>_Rows and rows of big dark clouds  
><em>_But I'm holding on underneath this shroud  
><em>_Rain_

_It's hard to know when to give up the fight  
><em>_Some things you want will just never be right  
><em>_It's never rained like it has tonight before  
><em>_Now I don't wanna beg you baby  
><em>_For something maybe you could never give  
><em>_I'm not looking for the rest of your life  
><em>_I just want another chance to live_

_Strange how hard it rains now  
><em>_Rows and rows of big dark clouds  
><em>_But I'm holding on underneath this shroud  
><em>_Rain_

Chapter Fifteen, Part One: Catharsis

"I'm here, you're here and there are fries. Here's your chance to explain why this isn't working."

Booth knew how women were. They wanted apologies and begging and grovelling and flowers and chocolate and sex. Bones, in these senses, was most certainly not a woman. Booth opened his mouth, closing it before he said something that resulted in, "No, Booth, unhealthy fats and sugars will not solve this problem."

Bones apparentlytook some pity on him, and moved to articulate. When she spoke, her voice was uncharacteristically quiet.

"You know," she said, her voice taking on an eerie, musing, quality, "you died here."

Booth's eyebrows drew together in worry.

"No," he said forcefully. "No, I _didn't_. Can't you see? What can I do to make you _see_? It was all just the worst of understandings, and I'll just never be able to do anything like this again. I'll quit homicide if you ask me to, Bones, just say the word."

Bones shook her head, not quite looking at Booth.

"No, no, you're the one who doesn't see, Booth," she corrected hazily, reliving memories. "You _died_ here. And it was shitty timing, you know. Really. You couldn't choose a better time to die?" Booth flinched a little at the unexpected curse, and forced himself not to speak. This was not his time. _It wasn't my fault, _his psyche wanted to justify._ I was being shot at… it worked to the FBI's advantage!_ But he had dignity enough to abhor speaking out and remained silent.

"You know something? Angela took it terribly. The hormones drove her crazy with misery." Brennan looked at Booth, trying to get him to understand. "Booth, she didn't talk for a month." Booth closed his eyes, forgetting everything for a minute. Just the thought of Angela, usually so chatty, silent for a _month…_

"And then we were at the hospital…. Parriera was there, said Hannah had gone home… _oh_." Realization dawned in Brennan's eyes, "Of course. She must've known." Booth didn't even have time to begin apologizing before Brennan moved on.

"Oh poor Jasper, all for nothing, and Sweets was quite endearing about the whole thing…" She looked up sharply. "He didn't know, did he?" Booth shook his head numbly.

"Good, otherwise…" Booth wondered what had transpired between Sweets and Bones while he was gone.

"Then there was the funeral… not too many crying girlfriends Sorry," Brennan said wryly, but her tone sobered to a haunted whisper. "Though Hannah was there. I thought she might have been more sad than me. I _was_ sad." Brennan nodded emphatically at Booth, as if to assert her emotional capacity.

"I checked, you know, to make sure you weren't a soldier this time. they thought I was crazy… I think I may have been a little crazy. Hannah was so nice, and comforting, and distraught… I mean, imagine the self-conflict," Brennan pointed out. Booth couldn't. All he could imagine was a crying Brennan, dressed in black, making sad attempts to find him in a crowd of random people. He thought his visual was worse.

"Hannah took the flag, and I stayed," Brennan remembered. "I didn't cry at the funeral." Booth nodded. To what he didn't know, he just… nodded, to help her.

"You headstone," Brennan commented. "Was completely inadequate. After that-" Brennan paused, deliberating something. Booth didn't want to push her; this was supposed to be cathartic.

"After that, I rang Max, and then I found Harley to exactrevenge." Booth laughed an uncomfortable laugh.

"Bones, it's totally fine if you don't want to share everything."

The look Brennan fixed him with was calculating.

"No, really."


End file.
